{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3020", "width": "1947", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\n(lull;. Copyrio lit No.\\nSlieli: r Al__\\n1360^\\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2842", "width": "1825", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "TriE\\nSketch Book\\nor\\nGCOrrREY CRAYON.\\nGENT.\\nREPRINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL EDITION\\nBY\\nWASMINGTON IRVING\\nCHICAGO\\nW. B. CONKEY COMPANY\\nPUBLISHERS", "height": "2842", "width": "1825", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "3 6100\\nLibrary of j:ona-rese\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2wo \\\\}Pies Htcf co\\nAUG 18 1900\\nCopydght entry\\nSECOND COPY.\\nOetivered te\\nORDER DIVISION,\\nAUG 25 1900\\nf.\\nb\\n^0\\nCopyright, 1900, BY W. B. Conkey Company.\\n73585", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "TO\\nSIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart.,\\nTHIS WORK IS DEDICATED, IN TESTIMONY\\nOF THE\\nADMIRATION AND^ AFFECTION\\nOF\\nTHE AUTHOR.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS.\\nPAGE\\nPreface 7\\nThe Author s Account of Himself 17\\nThe Voyage 22\\nRoscoe 31\\nThe Wife 41\\nRip Van Winkle 52\\nEnglish Writers on America 79\\nRural Life in England 93\\nThe Broken Heart 104\\nThe Art of Book-making 112\\nA Royal Poet 122\\nThe Country Church 142\\nThe Widow and Her Son 150\\nA Sunday in London 161\\nThe Boar s Head Tavern 164\\nThe Mutability of Literature 181\\nRural Funerals 197\\nThe Inn Kitchen 214\\nThe Spectre Bridegroom 217\\nWestminster Abbey 240\\nChristmas 256\\nThe Stage-Coach 264\\nChristmas Eve 274\\nChristmas Day 291\\nThe Christmas Dinner 311\\nLondon Antiques 332\\nLittle Britain 341\\nStratford- on- Avon 363\\nTraits of Indian Character 391\\nPhilip of Pokanoket 408\\nJohn Bull 433\\nThe Pride of the Village 450\\nThe Angler. 463\\nThe Legend of Sleepy Hollow 476\\nL Envoy 523\\n5", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "PREFACE TO THE REVISED\\nEDITION.\\nThe following papers, with two exceptions,\\nwere written in England, and formed but part\\nof an intended series for which I had made\\nnotes and memorandums. Before I could\\nmature a plan, however, circumstances com-\\npelled me to send them piecemeal to the\\nUnited States, where they were published\\nfrom time to time in portions or numbers. It\\nwas not my intention to publish them in Eng-\\nland, being conscious that much of their con-\\ntents could be interesting only to American\\nreaders, and, in truth, being deterred by the\\nseverity with which American productions\\nhad been treated by the British press.\\nBy the time the contents of the first volume\\nhad appeared in this occasional manner, they\\nbegan to find their way across the Atlantic,\\nand to be inserted, with many kind encomi-\\nums, in the London Literary Gazette. It\\nwas said, also, that a London bookseller in-\\ntended to publish them in a collective form.\\nI determined, therefore, to bring them for-\\nward myself, that they might at least have the\\nbenefit of my superintendence and revision. I\\naccordingly took the printed numbers which I\\nhad received from the United States, to Mr.\\nJohn Murray, the eminent publisher, from\\n7", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "8 PREFACE.\\nwhom I had already received friendly atten-\\ntions, and left them with him for examination,\\ninforming him that should he be inclined to\\nbring them before the public, I had materials\\nenough on hand for a second volume. Several\\ndays having elapsed without any communica-\\ntion from Mr. Murray, I addressed a note to\\nhim, in which I construed his silence into a\\ntacit rejection of my work, and begged that\\nthe numbers I had left with him might be\\nreturned to me. The following was his\\nreply\\nMy Dear Sir: I entreat you to believe that\\nI feel truly obliged by your kind intentions\\ntoward me, and that I entertain the most un-\\nfeigned respect for your most tastefal talents.\\nMy house is completely filled with workpeople\\nat this time, and I have only an office to trans-\\nact business in and yesterday I was wholly\\noccupied, or I should have done myself the\\npleasure of seeing you.\\nIf it would not suit me to engage in the pub-\\nlication of your present work, it is only because\\nI do not see that scope in the nature of it\\nwhich would enable me to make those satis-\\nfactory accounts between us, without which T\\nreally feel no satisfaction in engaging but I\\nwill do all I can to promote their circulation,\\nand shall be most ready to attend to any future\\nplan of yours.\\nWith much regard, I remain, dear sir,\\nYour faithful servant,\\nJohn Murray.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "PREFACE. 9\\nThis was disheartening, and might have\\ndeterred me from any further prosecution of\\nthe matter, had the question of republication\\nin Great Britain rested entirely with me; but\\n1 apprehended the appearance of a spurious\\nedition. I now thought of Mr. Archibald\\nConstable as publisher, having been treated\\nby him with much hospitality during a visit to\\nEdinburgh: but first I determined to submit\\nmy work to Sir Walter (then Mr.) Scott, being\\nencouraged to do so by the cordial reception I\\nhad experienced from him at Abbottsford a few\\nyears previously,and by the favorable opinion he\\nhad expressed to others of my earlier writings.\\nI accordingly sent him the printed numbers\\nof the Sketch-Book in a parcel by coach, and\\nat the satne time wrote to him, hinting that\\nsince I had had the pleasure of partaking of\\nhis hospitality, a reverse had taken place in\\nmy affairs which made the successful exercise\\nof my pen all-important to me; I begged him,\\ntherefore, to look over the literary articles I\\nhad forwarded to him, and, if he thought they\\nwould bear European republication, to ascer-\\ntain whether Mr. Constable would be inclined\\nto be the publisher.\\nThe parcel containing my work went by\\ncoach to Scott s address in Edinburgh; the\\nletter went by mail to his residence in the\\ncountry. By the very first post I received a\\nreply, before he had seen my work.\\nI was down at Kelso, said he, when your\\nletter reached Abbotsford. I am now on my\\nway to town, and will converse with Constable,\\n2 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "10 PREFACE.\\nand do all in my power to forward your views\\nI assure you nothing will give me more\\npleasure.\\nThe hint, however, about a reverse of for-\\ntune had struck the quick apprehension of\\nScott, and, with that practical and efficient\\ngood-will which belonged to his nature, he\\nhad already devised a way of aiding me. A\\nweekly periodical, he went on to inform me,\\nwas about to be set up in Edinburgh, sup-\\nported by the most respectable talents, and\\namply furnished with all the necessary infor-\\nmation. The appointment of the editor, for\\nwhich ample funds were provided, would be\\nfive hundred pounds sterling a year, with the\\nreasonable prospect of, further advantages.\\nThis situation, being apparently at his disposal,\\nhe frankly offered to me. The work, however,\\nhe intimated, was to have somewhat of a polit-\\nical bearing, and he expressed an apprehension\\nthat the tone it was desired to adopt might not\\nsuit me. Yet I risk the question, added\\nhe, because I know no man so well qualified\\nfor this important task, and perhaps because it\\nwill necessarily bring you to Edinburgh. If\\nmy proposal does not suit, you need only keep\\nthe matter secret and there is no harm done.\\nAnd for my love I pray you wrong me not.*\\nIf on the contrary you think it could be made\\nto suit you, let me know as soon as possible,\\naddressing Castle Street, Edinburgh.\\nIn a postscript, written from Edinburgh, he\\nadds, I am just come here, and have glanced\\nover the Sketch-Book. It is positively beau-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "PREFACE. 11\\ntiful, and increases my desire to crimp you, if\\nit be possible. Some difficulties there always\\nare in managing such a matter, especially ^t\\nthe outset but we will obviate them as much\\nas we possibly can.\\nThe following is from an imperfect draught\\nof my reply, which underwent some modifica-\\ntions in the copy sent\\nI cannot express how much I am gratified\\nby your letter. I had begun to feel as if I had\\ntaken an unwarrantable liberty; but, some-\\nhow or other, there is a genial sunshine about\\nyou that warms every creeping thing into\\nheart and confidence. Your literary proposal\\nboth surprises and flatters me, as it evinces a\\nmuch higher opinion of my talents than I\\nhave myself.\\nI then went on to explain that I found myself\\npeculiarly unfitted for the situation offered to\\nme, not merel) by my political opinions, but by\\nthe very constitution and habits of my mind.\\nMy whole course of life, I observed, has\\nbeen desultory, and I am unfitted for any\\nperiodically recurring task, or any stipulated\\nlabor of body or mind. I have no command of\\nmy talents, such as they are, and have to\\nwatch the varyings of my mind as I would\\nthose of a weathercock. Practice and training\\nmay bring me more into rule; but at present\\nI am as useless for regular service as one of\\nmy own country Indians or a Don Cossack.\\nI must, therefore, keep on pretty much as\\nI have begun writing when I can, not when I\\nwould. I shall occasionally shift my residence", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "12 PREFACE.\\nand write whatever is suggested by objects\\nbefore me, or whatever rises in my imagina-\\ntion and hope to write better and more copi-\\nously by and by.\\nI am playing the egotist, but I know no\\nbetter way of answering your proposal than by\\nshowing what a very good-for-nothing kind of\\nbeing I am. Should Mr. Constable feel\\ninclined to make a bargain for the wares I\\nhave on hand, he will encourage me to further\\nenterprise; and it will be something like trad-\\ning with a gypsy for the fruits of his prowlings,\\nwho may at one time have nothing but a\\nwooden bowl to offer, and at another time a\\nsilver tankard.\\nIn reply, Scott expressed regret, but not\\nsurprise, at my declining what might have\\nproved a troublesome duty. He then recurred\\nto the original subject of our correspondence\\nentered intg a detail of the various terms upon\\nwhich arrangements were made between\\nauthors and booksellers, that I might take my\\nchoice expressing the most encouraging con-\\nfidence of the success of my work, and of\\nprevious works which I had produced in Amer-\\nica. I did no more, added he, than open\\nthe trenches with Constable but I am sure if\\nyou will take the trouble to write to him, you\\nwill find him disposed to treat your overtures\\nwith every degree of attention. Or, if you\\nthink it of consequence in the first place to see\\nme, I shall be in London in the course of a\\nmonth, and whatever my experience can com-\\nmand is most heartily at your command. But", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "PREFACE. 13\\nI can add little to what I have said above,\\nexcept my earnest recommendation to Con-\\nstable to enter into the negotiation.\\nBefore the receipt of this most obliging\\nletter, however, I had determined to look to\\nno leading bookseller for a launch, but to\\nthrow my work before the public at my own\\nrisk, and let it sink or swim according to its\\nmerits. I wrote to that effect to Scott, and\\nsoon received a reply\\nI observe with pleasure that you are going\\nto come forth in Britain. It is certainly not\\nthe very best way to publish on one s own\\naccompt; for the booksellers set their face\\nagainst the circulation of such works as do not\\npay an amazing toll to themselves. But they\\nhave lost the art of altogether damming up the\\n*I cannot avoid subjoining in a note a succeeding par-\\nagraph of Scott s letter, which, though it does not\\nrelate to the main subject of our correspondence, was\\ntoo characteristic to be omitted. Some time previously\\nI had sent Miss Sophia Scott small duodecimo American\\neditions of her father s poems published in Edinburgh in\\nquarto volumes; showing the nigromancy of the\\nAmerican press, by which a quart of wine is conjured\\ninto a pint bottle. Scott observes: In my hurry, I have\\nnot thanked you in Sophia s name for the kind attention\\nwhich furnished her with the American volumes. I am\\nnot quite sure I can add my own, since you have made\\nher acquainted with much more of papa s folly than she\\nwould ever otherwise have learned for I had taken\\nspecial care they should never see any of those things\\nduring their earlier years. I think I have told you that\\nWalter is sweeping the firmament with a feather like a\\nmaypole and indenting the pavement with a sword like\\na scythe in other words, he has become a whiskered\\nhussar in the i8th Dragoons.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "14 PREFACE.\\nroad in such cases between the author and the\\npublic, which they were once able to do as\\neffectually as Diabolus in John Bunyan s Holy\\nWar closed up the windows of my Lord Under-\\nstanding s mansion. I am sure of one thing,\\nthat you have only to be known to the British\\npublic to be admired by them, and I would\\nnot say so unless I really was of that opinion.\\nIf you ever see a witty but rather local\\npublication called Blackwood s Edinburgh\\nMagazine, you will find some notice of your\\nworks in the last number: the author is a\\nfriend of mine, to whom I have introduced\\nyou in your literary capacity. His name is\\nLockhart, a young man of very considerable\\ntalent, and who will soon be intimately con-\\nnected with my family. My faithful friend\\nKnickerbocker is to be next examined and\\nillustrated. Constable was extremely willing\\nto enter into consideration of a treaty for your\\nworks, but I foresee will be still more so when\\nYour name is up, and may go\\nFrom Toledo to Madrid.\\nAnd that will soon be the case. I trust\\nto be in London about the middle of the month,\\nand promise myself great pleasure in once\\nagain shaking you by the hand.\\nThe first volume of the Sketch-Book was put\\nto press in London, as I had resolved, at my\\nown risk, by a bookseller unknown to fame,\\nand without any of the usual arts by which a\\nwork is trumpeted into notice. Still some\\nattention had been called to it by the extracts", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "PREFACE. 15\\nwhich had previously appeared in the Liter-\\nary Gazette, and by the kind word spoken\\nby the editor of that periodical, and it was\\ngetting into fair circulation, when my worthy\\nbookseller failed before the first month was\\nover, and the sale was interrupted.\\nAt this juncture Scott arrived in London. I\\ncalled to him for help, as I was sticking in the\\nmire, and, more propitious than Hercules, he\\nput his own shoulder to the wheel. Through\\nhis favorable representations, Murray was\\nquickly induced to undertake the future publi-\\ncation of the work which he had previously\\ndeclined. A further edition of the first vol-\\nume was struck off and the second volume was\\nput to press, and from that time Murray became\\nmy publisher, conducting himself in all his\\ndealings with that fair, open, and liberal spirit\\nwhich had obtained for him the well-merited\\nappellation of the Prince of Booksellers.\\nThus, under the kind and cordial auspices of\\nSir Walter Scott, I began my literary career in\\nEurope; and I feel that I am but discharging,\\nin a trifling degree, my debt of gratitude to the\\nmemory of that golden-hearted man in\\nacknowledging my obligations to him. But\\nwho of his literary contemporaries ever ap-\\nplied to him for aid or counsel that did not\\nexperience the most prompt, generous, and\\neffectual assistance? W. I.\\nSUNNYSIDE,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nTHE AUTHOR S ACCOUNT OF HIM-\\nSELF.\\nI am of this mind with Homer, that as the snaile that\\ncrept out of her shel was turned ef tsoones into a toad,\\nand thereby was forced to make a stoole to sit on so\\nthe traveler that stragleth from his owne country is in a\\nshort time transformed into so monstrous a shape, that\\nhe is faine to alter his mansion with his manners, and to\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0live where he can, not where he would. Lyly s Euphues.\\n1 was always fond of visiting new scenes, and\\nobserving- strange characters and manners.\\nEven when a mere child I began my travels,\\nand made manj^ tonrs of discovery into foreign\\nparts and unknown regions of my native city,\\nto the frequent alarm of my parents, and the\\nemolument of the town crier. As I grew into\\nboyhood, I extended the range of my observa-\\ntions. My holiday afternoons were spent in\\nrambles about the surrounding country. I\\nmade myself familiar with all its places famous\\nin history or fable. I knew every spot where\\na murder or robbery had been committed, or a\\nghost seen. I visited the neighboring villages,\\nand added greatly to my stock of knowledge,\\nby noting their habits and customs, and con-\\n2 17", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "18 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nversing with their sages and great men. I\\neven journeyed one long summer s day to the\\nsummit of the most distant hill, whence I\\nstretched my eye over many a mile of terra\\nincognita, and was astonished to find how vast a\\nglobe I inhabited.\\nThis rambling propensity strengthened with\\nmy years. Books of voyages and travels be-\\ncame my passion, and in devouring their con-\\ntents, I neglected the regular exercises of the\\nschool. How wistfully would I wander about\\nthe pier-heads in fine weather, and watch the\\nparting ships, bound to distant climes; with\\nwhat longing eyes would I gaze after their\\nlessening sails, and waft myself in imagination\\nto the ends of the earth\\nFurther reading and thinking, though they\\nbrought this vague inclination into more rea-\\nsonable bounds, only served to make it more\\ndecided. I visited various parts of my own\\ncountry and had I been merely a lover of fine\\nscenery, I should have felt little desire to seek\\nelsewhere its gratification, for on no country\\nhad the charms of nature been more prodigally\\nlavished. Her mighty lakes, her oceans of\\nliquid silver; her mountains, with their bright\\naerial tints; her valleys, teeming with wild\\nfertility; her tremendous cataracts, thunder-\\ning in their solitudes; her boundless plains,\\nwaving with spontaneous verdure her broad,\\ndeep rivers, rolling in solemn silence to the\\nocean her trackless forests, where vegetation\\nputs forth all its magnificence her skies, kind-\\nling with the magic of summer clouds and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 19\\ng-lorious sunshine no, never need an Amer-\\nican look beyond his own country for the sub-\\nlime and beautiful of natural scenery.\\nBut Europe held forth all the charms of stor-\\nied and poetical association. There were to be\\nseen the masterpieces of art, the refinements\\nof highly cultivated society, the quaint peculi-\\narities of ancient and local custom. My native\\ncountry was full of youthful promise Europe\\nwas rich in the accumulated treasures of age.\\nHer very ruins told the history of the times\\ngone by, and every mouldering stone was a\\nchronicle. I longed to wander over the scenes\\nof renowned achievement\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to tread, as it were,\\nin the footsteps of antiquity to loiter about\\nthe ruined castle to meditate on the falling\\ntower to escape, in short, from the common-\\nplace realities of the present, and lose myself\\namong the shadowy grandeurs of the past.\\nI had, besides all this, an earnest desire to\\nsee the great men of the earth. We have, it\\nis true, our great men in America not a city\\nbut has an ample share of them. I have min-\\ngled among them in my time, and been almost\\nwithered by the shade into which they cast me\\nfor there is nothing so baleful to a small man\\nas the shade of a great one, particularly the\\ngreat man of a city. But I was anxious to see\\nthe great men of Europe for I had read in\\nthe works of various philosophers, that all ani-\\nmals degenerated in America, and man among\\nthe number. A great man of Europe, thought\\nI, must, therefore, be as superior to a great\\nman of America, as a peak of the Alps to a", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "^0 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhighland of the Hudson; and in this idea I was\\nconfirmed by observing the comparative im-\\nportance and swelling magnitude of many Eng-\\nlish travelers among us, who, T was assured,\\nwere very little people in their own country.\\nI will visit this land of wonders, thought I, and\\nsee the gigantic race from which I am degen-\\nerated.\\nIt has been either my good or evil lot to\\nhave my roving passion gratified. I have wan-\\ndered through different countries and wit-\\nnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. I\\ncannot say that I have studied them with the\\neye of a philosopher; but rather with the saun-\\ntering gaze with which humble lovers of the\\npicturesque stroll from the w^indow of one\\nprint-shop to another; caught sometimes by\\nthe delineations of beauty, sometimes by the\\ndistortions of caricature, and sometimes by\\nthe loveliness of landscape. As it is the fash-\\nion for modern tourists to travel pencil in\\nhand, and bring home their portfolios filled\\nwith sketches, I am disposed to get up a few\\nfor the entertainment of my friends. When,\\nhowever, I look over the hints and memoran-\\ndums I have taken down for the purpose, my\\nheart almost fails me, at finding how my idle\\nhumor has led me astray from the great object\\nstudied by every regular traveler who would\\nmake a book. I fear I shall give equal disap-\\npointment with an unlucky landscape-painter,\\nwho had traveled on the Continent, but follow-\\ning the bent of his vagrant inclination, had\\nsketched in nooks, and corners, and by-places.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 21\\nHis sketch Dook was accordingly crowded with\\ncottages, and landscapes, and obscure ruins;\\nbut he had neglected to paint St. Peter s, or\\nthe Coliseum, the cascade of Terni, or the bay\\nof Naples, atid had not a single glacier or vol-\\ncano in his whole collection.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "22 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nTHE VOYAGE.\\nShips, ships, I will descrie you\\nAmidst the main,\\nI will come and try you,\\nWhat you are protecting,\\nAnd projecting.\\nWhat s your end and aim.\\nOne goes abroad for merchandise and trading,\\nAnother stays to keep his country from invading,\\nA third is coming home with rich and wealthy lading.\\nHallo my fancie, whither wilt thou go?\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Old Poem.\\nTo an American visiting Europe, the long\\nvoyage he has to make is an excellent prepara-\\ntive. The temporary absence of worldly scenes\\nand employments produces a state of mind pe-\\nculiarly fitted to receive new and vivid impres-\\nsions. The vast space of waters that separate\\nthe hemispheres is like a blank page in exist-\\nence. There is no gradual transition by which,\\nas in Europe, the features and population of\\none country blend almost imperceptibly with\\nthose of another. From the moment you lose\\nsight of the land you have left, all is vacancy,\\nuntil you step on the opposite shore, and are\\nlaunched at once into the bustle and novelties\\nof another world.\\nIn traveling by land there is a continuity of\\nscene, and a connected succession of persons\\nand incidents, that carry on the story of life,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 23\\nand lessen the effect of absence and separa-\\ntion. We drag, it is true, **a lengthening\\nchain at each remove of our pilgrimage; but\\nthe chain is unbroken; we can trace it back\\nlink by link; and we feel that the last still\\ngrapples us to home. But a wide sea voyage\\nsevers us at once. It makes us conscious of\\nbeing cast loose from the secure anchorage of\\nsettled life, and sent adrift upon a doubtful\\nworld. It interposes a gulf, not merely imagi-\\nnary, but real, between us and our homes a\\ngulf, subject to tempest, and fear, and uncer-\\ntainty, rendering distance palpable, and return\\nprecarious.\\nSuch, at least, was the case with myself.\\nAs I saw the last blue lines of my native land\\nfade away like a cloud in the horizon, it\\nseemed as if I had closed one volume of the\\nworld and its concerns, and had time for med-\\nitation, before I opened another. That land,\\ntoo, now vanishing from my view, which con-\\ntained all most dear to me in life; what vicis-\\nsitudes might occur in it what changes might\\ntake place in me, before I should visit it\\nagain! Who can tell, when he sets forth to\\nwander, whither he may be driven by the un-\\ncertain currents of existence or when he may\\nreturn or whether it may be ever his lot to\\nrevisit the scenes of his childhood?\\nI said, that at sea all is vacancy; I should\\ncorrect the impression. To one given to day-\\ndreaming and fond of losing himself in rever-\\nies, a sea voyage is full of subjects for medita-\\ntion but then they are the wonders of the deep", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "24 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nand of the air, and rather tend to abstract the\\nmind from worldly themes. I delighted to loll\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2over the quarter-railing or climb to the main-\\ntop, of a calm day, and muse for hours together\\non the tranquil bosom of a summer s sea; to\\ngaze upon the piles of golden clouds just peer-\\ning above the horizon, fancy them some fairy\\nrealms, and people them with a creation of my\\nown; to watch the gently undulating billows\\nrolling their silver volumes, as if to die away\\non those happy shores.\\nThere was a delicious sensation of mingled\\nsecurity and awe with which I looked down,\\nfrom my giddy height, on the monsters of the\\ndeep at their uncouth gambols; shoals of por-\\npoises tumbling about the bow of the ship the\\ngrampus, slowly heaving his huge form above\\nthe surface or the ravenous shark, darting,\\nlike a spectre, through the blue waters. My\\nimagination would conjure up all that I had\\nheard or read of the watery world beneath me\\nof the finny herds that roam its fathomless val-\\nleys; of the shapeless monsters that lurk\\namong the very foundations of the earth; and\\nof those wild phantasms that swell the tales of\\nfishermen and sailors.\\nSometimes a distant sail, gliding along the\\nedge of the ocean, would be another theme of\\nidle speculation. How interesting this frag-\\nment of a world, hastening to rejoin the great\\nmass of existence What a glorious monument\\nof human invention which has in a manner\\ntriumphed over wind and wave; has brought\\nthe ends of the world into communion; has", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 25\\nestablished an interchange of blessings, pour-\\ning into the sterile regions of the north all the\\nluxuries, of the south has diffused the light of\\nknowledge, and the charities of cultivated life\\nand has thus bound together those scattered\\nportions of the human race, between which\\nnature seemed to have thrown an insurmount-\\nable barrier.\\nWe one day descried some shapeless object\\ndrifting at a distance. At sea, everything that\\nbreaks the monotony of the surrounding ex-\\npanse attracts attention. It proved to be the\\nmast of a ship that must have been completely\\nwrecked; for there were the remains of hand-\\nkerchiefs, by which some of the crew had fas-\\ntened themselves to this spar, to prevent their\\nbeing washed off by the waves. There was no\\ntrace by which the name of the ship could be\\nascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted\\nabout for many months; clusters of shell-fish\\nhad fastened about it, and long sea-weeds\\nflaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, is\\nthe crew? Their struggle has long been over\\nthey have gone down amidst the roar of the\\ntempest -their bones lie whitening among the\\ncaverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like\\nthe waves, have closed over them, and no one\\ncan tell the story of their end. What sighs\\nhave been wafted after that ship! what prayers\\noffered up at the deserted fireside of home!\\nHow often has the mistress, the wife, the\\nmother, pored over the daily news, to catch\\nsome casual intelligence of this rover of the\\ndeep How has expectation darkened into", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "26 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nanxiety anxiety into dread and dread into\\ndespair! Alas! not one memento may ever\\nreturn for love to cherish. All that may ever\\nbe known, is that she sailed from her port/ and\\nwas never heard of more!\\nThe sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise\\nto many dismal anecdotes. This was particu-\\nlarly the case in the evening, when the\\nweather, which had hitherto been fair, began\\nto look wild and threatening, and gave indica-\\ntions of one of those sudden storms that will\\nsometimes break in upon the serenity of a sum-\\nmer voyage. As we sat round the dull light\\nof a lamp, in the cabin, that made the gloom\\nmore ghastly, every one had his tale of ship-\\nwreck and disaster. I was particularly struck\\nwith a short one related by the captain.\\nAs I was once sailing, said he, in a fine,\\nstout ship across the banks of Newfoundland,\\none of those heavy fogs that prevail in those\\nparts rendered it impossible for us to see far\\nahead, even in the daytime but at night the\\nweather was so thick that we could not distin-\\nguish any object at twice the length of the\\nship. I kept lights at the mast-head, and a\\nconstant watch forward to look out for fishing\\nsmacks, which are accustomed to anchor on\\nthe banks. The wind was blowing a smack-\\ning breeze, and we were going at a great rate\\nthrough the water. Suddenly the watch gave\\nthe alarm of a sail ahead! it was scarcely\\ntittered before we were upon her. She was a\\nsmall schooner, at anchor, with her broadside\\ntoward us. The crew were all asleep, and had", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 27\\nneglected to hoist a light. We struck her just\\namidships. The force, the size, and weight of\\nour vessel, bore her down below the waves;\\nwe passed over her and were hurried on our\\ncourse. As the crashing wreck was sinking\\nbeneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three\\nhalf-naked wretches, rushing from her cabin\\nthey just started from their beds to be swal-\\nlowed shrieking by the waves. I heard their\\ndrowning cry mingling with the wind. The\\nblast that bore it to our ears, swept us out of\\nall further hearing. I shall never forget that\\ncry! It was some time before we could put\\nthe ship about she was under such headway.\\nWe returned, as nearly as we could guess, to\\nthe place where the smack had anchored. We\\ncruised about for several hours in the dense\\nfog. We fired signal-guns, and listened if we\\nmight hear the halloo of any survivors: but all\\nwas silent we never saw or heard an5^thing of\\nthem more.\\nI confess these stories, for a time, put an end\\nto all my fine fancies. The storm increased\\nwith the night. The sea was lashed into tre-\\nmendous confusion. There was a fearful, sul-\\nlen sound of rushing waves and broken surges.\\nDeep called unto deep. At times the black\\nvolume of clouds overhead seemed rent asun-\\nder by flashes of lightning which quivered\\nalong the foaming billows, and made the suc-\\nceeding darkness doubly terrible. The thun-\\nders bellowed over the wild waste of waters,\\nand were echoed and prolonged by the moun-\\ntain waves. As I saw the ship staggering and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "28 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nplunging among these roaring caverns, it\\nseemed miraculous that she regained her bal-\\nance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards\\nwould dip into the water; her bow was almost\\nburied beneath the waves. Sometimes an im-\\npending surge appeared ready to overwhelm\\nher, and notliing but a dexterous movement\\nof the helm preserved her from the shock.\\nWhen I retired to my cabin, the awful scene\\nstill followed me. The whistling of the wind\\nthrough the rigging sounded like funeral wail-\\nings. The creaking of the masts the strain-\\ning and groaning of bulkheads, as the ship\\nlabored in the weltering sea, were frightful.\\nAs I heard the waves rushing along the side of\\nthe ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed\\nas if Death were raging around this floating\\nprison, seeking for his prey; the mere starting\\nof a nail, the yawning of a seam, might give\\nhim entrance.\\nA fine day, however, with a tranquil sea\\nand favoring breeze, soon put all these dismal\\nreflections to flight. It is impossible to resist\\nthe gladdening influence of fine weather and\\nfair wind at sea. When the ship is decked out\\nin all her canvas, every sail swelled, and\\ncareering gayly over the curling waves, how\\nlofty, how gallant, she appears how she seems\\nto lord it over the deep\\nI might fill a volume with the reveries of a\\nsea voyage; for with me it is almost a contin-\\nual reverie but it is time to get to shore.\\nIt was a fine sunny morning when the thrill-\\ning cry of land! was given from the mast-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 29\\nhead. None but those who have experienced\\nit can form an idea of the delicious throng of\\nsensations which rtish into an American s bos-\\nom, when he first comes in sight of Europe.\\nThere is a volume of associations with the very\\nname. It is the land of promise, teeming with\\neverything of which his childhood has heard,\\nor on which his studious years have pondered.\\nFrom that time, until the moment of arrival,\\nit was all feverish excitement. The ships of\\nwar, that prowled like guardian giants along\\nthe coast the headlands of Ireland, stretching-\\nout into the channel; the Welsh mountains\\ntowering into the clouds; all were objects of\\nintense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey,\\nI reconnoitred the shores with a telescope. My\\neye dwelt with delight on neat cottages, with\\ntheir trim shrubberies and green grass-plots.\\nI saw the mouldering ruin of an abbey overrun\\nwith ivy, and the taper spire of a village\\nchurch rising from the brow of a neighboring\\nhill; all were characteristic of England.\\nThe tide and wind were so favorable, that\\nthe ship was enabled to come at once to her\\npier. It was thronged with people some idle\\nlookers-on; others, eager expectants of friends\\nor relations. I could distinguish the merchant\\nto whom the ship was consigned. I knew him\\nby his calculating brow and restless air. His\\nhands were thrust into his pockets; he was\\nwhistling thoughtfully, and walking to and\\nfro, a small space having been accorded him\\nby the crowd, in deference to his temporary\\nimportance. There were repeated cheerings", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "30 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nand salutations interchanged between the\\nshore and the ship, as friends happened to rec-\\nognize each other. I particularly noticed one\\nyoung woman of humble dress, but interesting\\ndemeanor. She was leaning forward from\\namong the crowd; her eye hurried over the\\nship as it neared the shore, to catch some\\nwished-for countenance. She seemed disap-\\npointed and sad; when I heard a faint voice\\ncall her name. It was from a poor sailor who\\nhad been ill all the voyage, and had excited\\nthe sympathy of every one on board. When\\nthe weather was fine, his messmates had spread\\na mattress for him on deck in the shade, but\\nof late his illness had so increased that he had\\ntaken to his hammock, and only breathed a\\nwish that he might see his wife before he died.\\nHe had been helped on deck as we came up the\\nriver, and was now leaning against the\\nshrouds, with a countenance so wasted, so\\npale, so ghastly, that it was no wonder even\\nthe eye of affection did not recognize him.\\nBut at the sound of his voice, her eye darted\\non his features it read, at once, a whole vol-\\nume of sorrow she clasped her hands, uttered\\na faint shriek, and stood wringing them in\\nsilent agony.\\nAll now was hurry and bustle. The meetings\\nof acquaintances the greetings of friends the\\nconsultations of men of business. I alone was\\nsolitary and idle. I had no friend to meet, no\\ncheering to receive. I stepped upon the land\\nof my forefathers but felt that I was a\\nstranger in the land.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 31\\nROSCOE.\\nIn the service of mankind to be\\nA guardian god below still to employ\\nThe mind s brave ardor in heroic aims,\\nSuch as may raise us o er the groveling herd.\\nAnd make us shine for ever that is life.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Thomson.\\nOne of the first places to which a stranger is\\ntaken in Liverpool is the Athenaeum. It is\\nestablished on a liberal and judicious plan; it\\ncontains a good library, and spacious reading-\\nroom, and is the great literary resort of the\\nplace. Go there at what hour you may, you\\nare sure to find it filled with grave-looking\\npersonages, deeply absorbed in the study of\\nnewspapers.\\nAs I was once visiting this haunt of the\\nlearned, my attention was attracted to a person\\njust entering the room. He was advanced in\\nlife, tall, and of a form that might once have\\nbeen commanding, but it was a little bowed by\\ntime perhaps by care. He had a noble Roman\\nstyle of countenance a head that would have\\npleased a painter; and though some slight\\nfurrows on his brow showed that wasting\\nthought had been busy there, yet his eye\\nbeamed with the fire of a poetic soul. There\\nwas something in his whole appearance that", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "32 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nindicated a being of a different order from the\\nbustling race round him.\\nI inquired his name, and was informed that\\nit was Roscoe. I drew back with an involun-\\ntary feeling of veneration. This, then, was an\\nauthor of celebrity this was one of those men\\nwhose voices have gone forth to the ends of\\nthe earth; with whose minds I have com-\\nmuned even in the solitudes of America.\\nAccustomed, as we are in our country, to\\nknow European writers only by their works,\\nwe cannot conceive of them, as of other men,\\nengrossed by trivial or sordid pursuits, and\\njostling with the crowd of common minds in,\\nthe dusty paths of life. They pass before our\\nimaginations like superior beings, radiant with\\nthe emanations of their genius, and surrounded\\nby a halo of literary glory.\\nTo find, therefore, the elegant historian of\\nthe Medici mingling among the busy sons of\\ntraffic, at first shocked my poetical ideas but\\nit is from the very circumstances and situa-\\ntions in which he has been placed, that Mr.\\nRoscoe derives his highest claims to admira-\\ntion. It is interesting to notice how some\\nminds seem almost to create themselves,\\nspringing up under every disadvantage, and\\nworking their solitary but irresistible way\\nthrough a thousand obstacles. Nature seems\\nto delight in disappointing the assiduities of\\nart, with which it would rear legitimate dul-\\nness to maturity; and to glory in the vigor\\nand luxuriance of her chance productions.\\nShe scatters the seeds of genius to the winds.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. S3\\nand though some may perish among the stony\\nplaces of the world, and some be choked by\\nthe thorns and brambles of early adversity,\\nyet others will now and then strike root even\\nin the clefts of the rock, struggle bravely up\\ninto sunshine, and spread over their sterile\\nbirthplace all the beauties of vegetation.\\nSuch has been the case with Mr. Roscoe.\\nBorn in a place apparently ungenial to the\\ngrowth of literary talent in the very market\\nplace of trade; without fortune, family coxi\\nnections, or patronage; self-prompted, self-\\nsustained, and almost self-taught, he has con-\\nquered every obstacle, achieved his way to\\neminence, and, having become one of the\\nornaments of the nation, has turned the\\nwhole force of his talents and influence to\\nadvance and embellish his native town.\\nIndeed, it is this last trait in his character\\nwhich has given him the greatest interest\\nin my eyes, and induced me particularly to\\npoint him out to my countrymen. Eminent as\\nare his literary merits, he .is but one amonfj\\nthe many distinguished authors of this inteh\\nlectual nation. The}^, hovvxver, in general,\\nlive but for their own fame, or their own\\npleasures. Their private history presents no\\nlesson to the world, or, perhaps, a humiliating\\none of hum.an frailty or inconsistency. At\\nbest, they are prone to steal away ..from the\\nbustle and commonplace of busy existence to\\nindulge in the selfishness of lettered ease; and\\nto revel in scenes of mental, but exclusive\\nenjoyment.\\n3 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "34 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nMr. Roscoe, en the contrary, has claimed\\nnone of the accorded privileges of talent. He\\nhas shut himself up in no garden of thought,\\nnor elysium of fancy; but has gone forth into\\nthe highways and thoroughfares of life, he has\\nplanted bowers by the wayside, for the refresh-\\nment of the pilgrim and the sojourner, and\\nhas opened pure fountains, where the laboring\\nman may turn aside from the dust and heat of\\nthe day, and drink of the living streams of\\nknowledge. There is a daily beauty in his\\nlife, on which mankind may meditate, and\\ngrow better. It exhibits no lofty and almost\\nuseless, because inimitable example of excel-\\nlence; but presents a picture of active, yet\\nsimple and imitable virtues, tYhich are within\\nevery man s reach, but which, unfortunately^\\nare not exercised by many, or this world\\nwould be a paradise.\\nBut his private life is peculiarly worthy the\\nattention of the citizens of our young and\\nbusy country where literature and the elegant\\narts must grow up side by side with the\\ncoarser plants of daily necessity; and must\\ndepend for their culture, not on the exclusive\\ndevotion of time and wealth nor the quicken-\\ning rays of titled patronage but on hours and\\nseasons snatched from the purest of worldly\\ninterests, by intelligent and public-spirited in-\\ndividuals.\\nHe has shown how much may be done for a\\nplace in hours of leisure by one master-spirit,\\nand how completely it can give its own im-\\npress to surrounding objects. Like his own.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 35\\nLorenzo de Medici, on whom he seems to\\nhave fixed his eye as on a pure model of anti-\\nquity, he has interwoven the history of his\\nhfe with the history of his native town, and\\nhas made the foundations of his fame\\nthe monuments of his virtues. Wherever\\nyou go, in Liverpool, you perceive traces\\nof his footsteps in all that is elegant and\\nliberal. He found the tide of wealth flowing\\nmerely in the channels of trafhc; he has\\ndiverted from it invigorating rills to refresh\\nthe garden of literature. By his own\\nexample and constant exertions, he has\\neffected that union of commerce and the intel-\\nlectual pursuits, so eloquently recommended\\nin one of his latest writings;* and has practi-\\ncally proved how beautifully they may be\\nbrought to harmonize, and to benefit each\\nother. The noble institutions for literary and\\nscientific purposes, which reflect such credit\\non Liverpool, and are giving such an impulse\\nto the public mind, have mostly been originated\\nand have all been effectually promoted, by\\nMr. Roscoe: and when we consider the ra.pidly\\nincreasing opulence and magnitude of that\\ntown, which promises to vie in commercial\\nimportance with the metropolis, it will be\\nperceived that in awakening an ambition of\\nmental improvement among its inhabitants,\\nhe has effected a great benefit to the cause of\\nBritish literature.\\nIn America, we know Mr. Roscoe only as\\n*Address on the opening of the Liverpool Institution.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "36 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthe author; in Liverpool he is spoken of as\\nthe banker; and I was told of his having been\\nunfortunate in business. I could not pity\\nhim, as I heard some rich men do. I consid-\\nered him far above the reach of pity. Those\\nVv^ho live only for the v/orld, and in the world,\\nmay be cast down by the frowns of adversity;\\nbut a man like Roscoe is not to be overcome\\nby the reverses of fortune. They do but\\ndrive him in upon the resources of his own\\nmind, to the superior society of his own\\nthoughts which the best of men are apt some-\\ntimes to neglect, and to roam abroad in search\\nof less worth}/ associates. He is independent\\nof the world around him. He lives with anti-\\nquity, and with posterity: with antiquity, in\\nthe sweet communion of studious retirement;\\nand with posterity, in the generous aspirings\\nafter future renown. The solitude of such a\\nmind is its state of highest enjoyment. It is\\nthen visited by those elevated meditations\\nwhich are the proper aliment of noble souls,\\nand are, like manna, sent from heaven, in the\\nwilderness of this world.\\nV/hile my feelings were yet alive on the\\nsubject, it was my fortune to light on further\\ntraces of Mr. Roscoe. I was riding out with a\\ngentleman, to view the environs of Liverpool,\\nwhen he turned off, through a gate, into some\\nornamented grounds. After riding a short\\ndistance, we came to a spacious mansion of\\nfreestone, built in the Grecian style. It was\\nnot in the purest st3de, yet it had an air of\\nelegance, and the situation was delightful. A", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 37\\nfine lawn sloped away from it, studded with\\nclumps of trees, so disposed as to break a soft\\nfertile country into a variety of landscapes.\\nThe Mersey was seen winding a broad quiet\\nsheet of water through an expanse of green\\nmeadow land, while the Welsh mountains,\\nblended with clouds, and melting into distance,\\nbordered the horizon.\\nThis was Roscoe s favorite residence during-\\nthe days of his prosperity. It had been the\\nseat of elegant hospitality and literary retire-\\nment. The house was now silent and deserted.\\nI saw the windows of the study, which looked\\nout upon the soft scenery I have mentioned.\\nThe windows were closed the library was\\ngone. Two or three ill-favored beings were\\nloitering about the place, whom my fancy\\npictured into retainers of the law. It was like\\nvisiting some classic fountain, that had once\\nwelled its pure waters in a sacred shade, but\\nfinding it dry and dusty, with the lizard and\\nthe toad brooding over the shattered marbles.\\nI inquired after the fate of Mr. Roscoe s\\nlibrary, which had consisted of scarce and\\nforeign books, from many of which he had\\ndrawn the materials for his Italian histories.\\nIt had passed under the hammer of the\\nauctioneer, and was dispersed about the\\ncountry. The good people of the vicinity\\nthronged like wreckers to get some part of the\\nnoble vessel that had been driven on shore.\\nDid such a scene admit of ludicrous associa-\\ntions, we might imagine something whimsical\\nin this strange irruption in the regions of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "38 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nlearning. Pigmies rummaging the armory\\nof a giant, and contending for the possession\\nof weapons which they could not wield. We\\nmight picture to ourselves some knot of specu-\\nlators, debating with calculating brow over\\nthe quaint binding and illuminated margin of\\nan obsolete author; of the air of intense, but\\nbaffled sagacity, with which some successful\\npurchaser attempted to dive into the black-\\nletter bargain he had secured.\\nIt is a beautiful incident in the story of Mr.\\nRoscoe s misfortunes, and one which cannot\\nfail to interest the studious mind, that the\\nparting with his books seems to have touched\\nupon his tenderest feelings, and to have been\\nthe only circumstance that could provoke the\\nnotice of his muse. The scholar only knows\\nhow dear these silent, yet eloquent, compan-\\nions of pure thoughts and innocent hours\\nbecome in the season of adversity. When all\\nthat is worldly turns to dross around us,\\nthese only retain their steady value. When\\nfriends grow cold, and the converse of inti-\\nmates languishes into vapid civility and com-\\nmonplace, these only continue the unaltered\\ncountenance of happier days, and cheer us with\\nthat true friendship which never deceived\\nhope, nor deserted sorrow.\\nI do not wish to censure but, surely, if the\\npeople of Liverpool had been properly sensible\\nof what was due to Mr. Roscoe and them-\\nselves, his library would never have been\\nsold. Good worldly reasons may, doubtless,\\nbe given for the circumstance, which it would", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 39\\nbe difficult to combat with others that might\\nseem merely fanciful but it certainly appears\\nto me such an opportunity as seldom occurs,\\nof cheering a noble mind struggling under\\nmisfortunes by one of the most delicate, but\\nmost expressive tokens of public sympathy.\\nIt is difficult, however, to estimate a man of\\ngenius properly who is daily before our eyes.\\nHe becomes mingled and confounded with\\nother men. His great qualities lose their\\nnovelty; we become too familiar with the\\ncommon materials which form the basis e^ren\\nof the loftiest character. Some of Mr. Roscoe s\\ntownsmen may regard him merely as a man of\\nbusiness; others, as a politician; all find him\\nengaged like themselves in ordinary occupa-\\ntions, and surpassed, perhaps, by themselves\\non some points of worldly wisdom. Even\\nthat amiable and unostentatious simplicity of\\ncharacter, which gives the nameless grace to\\nreal excellence, may cause him to be under-\\nvalued by some coarse minds, who do not\\nknow that true worth is always void of glare\\nand pretension. But the man of letters, who\\nspeaks of Liverpool, speaks of it as the resi-\\ndence of Roscoe. The intelligent traveler\\nwho visits it inquires where Roscoe is to be\\nseen. He is the literary landmark of the\\nplace, indicating its existence to the distant\\nscholar. He is like Pompey s column at Alex-\\nandria, towering alone in classic dignity.\\nThe following sonnet, addressed by Mr.\\nRoscoe to his books, on parting with them,\\nhas already been alluded to. If anything can", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "40 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nadd effect to the pure feeling and elevated\\nthought here displayed, it is the conviction,\\nthat the whole is no effusion of fancy, but a\\nfaithful transcript from the writer s heart.\\nTO MY BOOK3.\\nAs one who, destined from his friends to part,\\nRegrets his loss, but hopes again erewhile\\nTo share their converse and enjoy their smile,\\nAnd tempers as he may affliction s dart;\\nThus, loved associates, chiefs of elder art.\\nTeachers of wisdom, who could once beguile\\nMy tedious hours, and lighten every toil,\\nI now resign you nor with fainting heart\\nFor pass a few short years, or days, or hours.\\nAnd happier seasons may their dawn unfold,\\nAnd all your sacred fellowship restore\\nWhen, freed from earth, unlimited its powers.\\nMind shall with mind direct communion hold,\\nAnd kindred spirits meet to part no more.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 41\\nTHE WIFE.\\nThe treasures of the deep are not so precious\\nAs are the concealed comforts of a man\\nLock d up in woman s love. I scent the air\\nOf blessings, when I come but near the house,\\nWhat a delicious breath marriage sends forth\\nThe violet bed s no sweeter\\nMiddleton.\\nI have often had occasion to remark the for-\\ntitude with which women sustain the most\\noverwhelming reverses of fortune. Those\\ndisasters which break down the spirit of a\\nman, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to\\ncall forth all the energies of the softer sex,\\nand give such intrepidity and elevation to\\ntheir character, that at times it approaches to\\nsublimity. Nothing can be more touching,\\nthan to behold a soft and tender female, who\\nhad been all weakness and dependence, and\\nalive to every trivial roughness, while tread-\\ning the prosperous paths of life, suddenly\\nrising in mental force to be the comforter and\\nsupport of her husband under misfortune, and\\nabiding with unshrinking firmness the bitterest\\nblast of adversity.\\nAs the vine, which has long twined its\\ngraceful foliage about the oak, and been lifted\\nby it into sunshine, will, when the hardy oak\\nis rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it\\n4 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "42 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwith its caressing- tendrils, and bind up its\\nshattered boughs, so is it beautifullly\\nordered by Providence, that woman, who is\\nthe mere dependent and ornament of man\\nin his happier hours, should be his stay and\\nsolace when smitten with sudden calamity;\\nwinding herself into the rugged recesses of his\\nnature, tenderly supporting the drooping head,\\nand binding up the broken heart.\\nI was once congratulating a friend, who had\\naround him a blooming family, knit together\\nin the strongest affection. I can wish you\\nno better lot. said he, with enthusiasm, than\\nto have a wife and children. If you are pros-\\nperous, there they are to share your pros-\\nperity if otherwise, there they are to comfort\\nyou. And, indeed, I have observed that a\\nmarried man falling into misfortune, is more\\napt to retrieve his situation in the world than\\na single one partly, because he is more\\nstimulated to exertion by the necessities of the\\nhelpless and beloved beings who depend upon\\nhim for subsistence, but chiefly because his\\nspirits are soothed and relieved by domestic\\nendearments, and his self-respect kept alive\\nby finding, that, though all abroad is darkness\\nand humiliation, yet there is still a little world\\nof love at home, of which he is the monarch.\\nWhereas, a single man is apt to run to waste\\nand self -neglect to fancy himself lonely and\\nabandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin, like\\nsome deserted mansion, for want of an in-\\nhabitant.\\nThese observations call to mind a little", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 43\\ndomestic story, of which I was once a witness.\\nMy intimate friend, Leslie, had married a\\nbeautiful and accomplished girl, who had been\\nbrought up in the midst of fashionable life.\\nShe had, it is true, no fortune, but that of my\\nfriend was ample; and he delighted in the\\nanticipation of indulging her in every elegant\\npursuit, and administering to those delicate\\ntastes and fancies that spread a kind of\\nwitchery about the sex. Her life, said\\nhe, shall be like a fairy tale.\\nThe very difference in their characters pro-\\nduced a harmonious combination; he was of\\na romantic, and somewhat serious cast; she\\nwas all life and gladness. I have often\\nnoticed the mute rapture with which he would\\ngaze upon her in company, of which her\\nsprightly powers made her the delight; and\\nhow, in the midst of applause, her eye would\\nstill turn to him, as if there alone she sought\\nfavor and acceptance. When leaning on his\\narm, her slender form contrasted finely with\\nhis tall, manly person. The fond, confiding\\nair with which she looked up to him seemed\\nto call forth a flush of triumphant pride and\\ncherishing tenderness, as if he doated on his\\nlovely burden from its very helplessness.\\nNever did a couple set forward on the flowery\\npath of early and well- suited marriage with a\\nfairer prospect of felicity.\\nIt was the misfortune of my friend, how-\\never, to have embarked his property in large\\nspeculations and he had not been married\\nmany months, when, by a succession of sud-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "44 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nden disasters, it was swept from him, and he\\nfound himself reduced to almost penury. For\\na time he kept his situation to himself, and\\nwent about with a haggard countenance, and\\na breaking heart. His life was but a pro-\\ntracted agony; and what rendered it more in-\\nsupportable was the necessity of keeping up a\\nsmile in the presence of his wife for he could\\nnot bring himself to overwhelm her with the\\nnews. She saw, however, with the quick\\neyes of affection, that all was not well with\\nhim. She marked his altered looks and stifled\\nsighs, and was not to be deceived by his sickly\\nand vapid attempts at cheerfulness. She\\ntasked all her sprightly powers and tender\\nblandishments to win him back to happiness;\\nbut she only drove the arrow deeper into his\\nsoul. The more he saw cause to love her,\\nthe more torturing was the thought that he\\nwas soon to make her wretched. A little\\nwhile, thought he, and the smile will vanish\\nfrom that cheek\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the song will die away from\\nthose lips the lustre of those eyes will be\\nquenched with sorrow; and the happy heart\\nwhich now beats lightly in that bosom, will\\nbe weighed down, like mine, by the cares and\\nmiseries of the world.\\nAt length he came to me one day, and\\nrelated his whole situation in a tone of the\\ndeepest despair. When I had heard him\\nthrough, I inquired: Does you wife know\\nall this? At the question he burst into an\\nagony of tears. For God s sake! cried he,\\nif you have any pity on me don t mention my", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 45\\nwife it is the thought of her that drives me\\nalmost to madness\\nAnd why not? said I. She must know\\nit sooner or later you cannot keep it long\\nfrom her, and the intelligence may break upon\\nher in a more startling manner than if im-\\nparted by yourself; for the accents of those\\nwe love soften the harshest tidings. Besides,\\nyou are depriving yourself of the comforts of\\nher sympathy and not merely that, but also\\nendangering the only bond that can keep\\nhearts together an unreserved community of\\nthought and feeling. She will soon perceive\\nthat something is secretly preying upon your\\nmind and true love will not brook reserve\\nit feels undervalued and outraged, when even\\nthe sorrows of those it loves are concealed\\nfrom it.\\nOh, but my friend! to think what a blow I\\nam to give to all her future prospects, how I\\nam to strike her very soul to the earth, by\\nidling her that her husband is a beggar! that\\nshe is to forego all the elegancies of life all\\nthe pleasures of society to shrink with me into\\nindigence and obscurity To tell her that I\\nhave dragged her down from the sphere in\\nwhich she might have continued to move in\\nconstant brightness the light of every eye\\nthe admiration of every heart How can she\\nbear poverty? She has been brought up in\\nall the refinements of opulence. How can she\\nbear neglect? She has been the idol of society.\\nOh, it will break her heart it will break her\\nlieart!", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "46 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nI saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it\\nhave its flow; for sorrow relieves itself by\\nwords. When his paroxysm had subsided, and\\nhe had relapsed into moody silence, I resumed\\nthe subject gently, and urged him to break his\\nsituation at once to his wife. He shook his\\nhead mournfully, but positively.\\nBut how are you to keep it from her? It\\nis necessary she should know it, that you may\\ntake the steps proper to the alteration^ of your\\ncircumstances. You must change your style\\nof living nay, observing a pang to pass\\nacross Ijis countenance, don t let that afflict\\nyou. I am sure you have never placed your\\nhappiness in outward show you have yet\\nfriends, warm friends, who will not think the\\nworse of you for being less splendidly lodged\\nand surely it does not require a palace to be\\nhappy with Mary\\nI could be happy with her, cried he, con-\\nvulsively, in a hovel! I could go down with\\nher into poverty and the dust I could God\\nbless her!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 God bless her! cried he, bursting\\ninto a transport of grief and tenderness.\\nAnd believe me, my friend, said I, step-\\nping up, and grasping him warmly by the\\nhand, believe me, she can be the same with\\nyou. Ay, more it will be a source of pride\\nand triumph to her- it will call forth all the\\nlatent energies and fervent sympathies of her\\nnature for she will rejoice to prove that she\\nloves you for yourself. There is in every tnie\\nwoman s heart a spark of heavenly fire, which\\nlies dormant on the broad daylight of prosper-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 47\\nity; but which kindles up, and beams, and\\nblazes in the dark hour of adversity. No man\\nknows what the wife of his bosom is no man\\nknows what a ministering angel she is until\\nhe has gone with her through the fiery trials\\nof this world.\\nThere was something in the earnestness of\\nmy manner, and the figurative style of my\\nlanguage, that caught the excited imagination\\nof Leslie. I knew the auditor I had to deal\\nwith; and following up the impression I had\\nmade, I finished by persuading him to go\\nhome and unburden his sad heart to his wife.\\nI must confess, notwithstanding all I had\\nsaid, I felt some little solicitude for the result.\\nWho can calculate on the fortitude of one\\nwhose life has been a round of pleasures? Her\\ngay spirits might revolt at the dark, downward\\npath of low humility suddenly pointed out be-\\nfore her, and might cling to the sunny regions\\nin which they had hitherto reveled. Besides,\\nruin in fashionable life is accompanied by so\\nmany galling mortifications, to which, in other\\nranks, it is a stranger. In short, I could not\\nmeet Leslie, the next morning, without trepi-\\ndation. He had made the disclosure.\\nAnd how did she bear it?\\nLike an angel! It seemed rather to be a\\nrelief to her mind, for she threw her arms\\naround my neck, and asked if this was all that\\nhad lately made me unhappy. But, poor girl,\\nadded he, she cannot realize the change we\\nmust undergo. She has no idea of poverty but\\nin the abstract she has only read of it in the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "48 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\npoetry, where it is allied to love. vShe feels as\\nyet no privation she suffers no loss of accus-\\ntomed conveniences nor elegancies. When we\\ncome practically to experience its sordid cares,\\nits paltry wants, its petty humiliations then\\nwill be the real trial.\\nBut, said I, now that you have got over\\nthe severest task, that of breaking it to her,\\nthe sooner you let the world into the secret the\\nbetter. The disclosure may be mortifying;\\nbut then it is a single misery, and soon over:\\nwhereas you otherwise suffer it, in anticipa-\\ntion, every hour in the day. It is not poverty\\nso much as pretence, that harasses a ruined\\nman the struggle between a proud mind and\\nan empty purse the keeping up a hollow\\nshow that must soon come to an end. Have\\nthe courage to appear poor, and you disarm\\npoverty of its sharpest sting. On this point\\nI found Leslie perfectly prepared. He had no\\nfalse pride himself, and as to his wife, she was\\nonly anxious to conform to their altered for-\\ntunes.\\nSome days afterwards, he called upon me in\\nthe evening. He had disposed of his dwell-\\ning-house, and taken a small cottage in the\\ncountry, a few miles from town. He had been\\nbusied all day in sending out furniture. The\\nnew establishment required few articles, and\\nthose of the simplest kind. All the splendid\\nfurniture of his late residence had been sold,\\nexcepting his wife s harp. This, he said, was\\ntoo closely associated with the idea of herself;\\nit belonged to the little story of their loves;", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 49\\nfor some of the sweetest moments of their\\ncourtship were those when he had leaned over\\nthat instrument, and listened to the melting\\ntones of her voice. I could not but smile at\\nthis instance of romantic gallantry in a doat-\\ning husband.\\nHe was now going out to the cottage, where\\nhis wife had been all day superintending its\\narrangement. My feelings had become\\nstrongly interested in the progress of his fam-\\nily story, and, as it was a fine evening, I\\noffered to accompany him.\\nHe was wearied with the fatigues of the day,\\nand, as we walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy\\nmusing.\\nPoor Mary! at length broke, with a heavy\\nsigh, from his lips.\\nAnd what of her, asked I, has anything\\nhappened to her?\\nWhat, said he, darting an impatient\\nglance, is it nothing to be reduced to this\\npaltry situation to be caged in a miserable\\ncottage to be obliged to toil almost in the\\nmenial concerns of her wretched habitation?\\nHas she then repined at the change?\\nRepined! she has been nothing but sweet-\\nness and good-humor. Indeed, she seems in\\nbetter spirits than have ever known her she\\nhas been to me all love, and tenderness, and\\ncomfort!\\nAdmirable girl! exclaimed I. You call\\nyourself poor, my friend you never were so\\nrich, you never knew the boundless treasures\\nof excellence you possessed in that woman.\\n4", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": ".50 THE SKETCH BOOK,\\nOh! but, my friend, if this first meeting at\\nthe cottage were oyer, I think I conld then be\\ncomfortable. But this is her first day of real\\nexperience; she has been introduced into a\\nhumble dwelling,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 she has been employed all\\nday in arranging its miserable equipments,\\nshe has, for the first time, known the fatigues\\nof domestic employment, she has, for the first\\ntime, looked around her on a home destitute\\nof every thing elegant -almost of every thing\\nconvenient; and may now be sitting down,\\nexhausted and spiritless, brooding over a\\nprospect of future poverty.\\nThere was a degree of probability in this\\npicture that I could not gainsay, so we walked\\non in silence.\\nAfter turning from the main road up a nar-\\nrow lane, so thickly shaded with forest-trees\\nas to give it a complete air of seclusion, we\\ncame in sight of the cottage. It was humble\\nenough in its appearance for the most pastoral\\npoet; and yet it had a pleasing rural look. A\\nwild vine had overrun one end with a profusion\\nof foliage; a few trees threw their branches\\ngracefully over it and I observed several pots\\nof flowers tastefully disposed about the door,\\nand on the grass-plot in front. A small wicket-\\ngate opened upon a footpath that wound\\nthrough some shrubbery to the door. Just as\\nwe approached, we heard the sound of music\\nLeslie grasped my arm; we paused and\\nlistened. It was Mary s voice singing, in a\\nstyle of the most touching simplicity, a little\\nair of which her husband was peculiarly fond.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 51\\nI felt Leslie s hand tremble on my arm. He\\nstepped forward, to hear more distinctly. His\\nstep made a noise on the gravel- walk. A\\nbright beautiful face glanced out at the win-\\ndow, and vanished a light footstep was heard\\nand Mary came tripping forth to meet us.\\nShe w^as in a pretty rural dress of white a\\nfew wild flowers were twisted in her fine hair;\\na fresh bloom was on her cheek; her whole\\ncountenance beamed with smiles I had never\\nseen her look so lovely.\\nMy dear George, criedshe, I am so gladyou\\nare come I have been watching and watching for\\nyou and running down the lane, and looking out\\nfor you. I ve set out a table under a beautiful\\ntree behind the cottage; and I ve been gather-\\ning some of the most delicious strawberries,\\nfor I know you are fond of them: and we have\\nsuch excellent cream and everything is so\\nsweet and still here Oh! said she, putting\\nher arm within his, and looking up brightly\\nin his face, Oh, we shall be so happy!\\nPoor Leslie was overcome. He caught her\\nto his bosom he folded his arms round her\\nhe kissed her again and again he could not\\nspeak, but the tears gushed into his eyes; and\\nhe has often assured me, that though the\\nworld has since gone prosperously with him,\\nand his life has, indeed, been a happy one,\\nyet never has he experienced a moment of\\nmore exquisite felicity.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "5^ THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nRIP VAN WINKLE.\\nA POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKER-\\nBy Woden, God of Saxons,\\nFrom whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday,\\nTruth is a thing that ever I will keep\\nUnto thylke day in which I creep into\\nMy sepulchre Cartwright.\\n[The following Tale was found among the papers of\\nthe late Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of\\nNew York, who was very curious in the Dutch History\\nof the province, and the manners of the descendants\\nfrom its primitive settlers. His historical researches,\\nhowever, did not lie so much among books as among\\nmen; for the former are lamentably scanty on his\\nfavorite topics whereas he found the old burghers, and\\nstill more, their wives, rich in that legendary lore, so\\ninvaluable to true history. Whenever, therefore, he\\nhappened upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly shut up\\nin its low-roofed farm-house, under a spreading syca-\\nmore, he looked upon it as a little clasped volume of\\nblack-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a book-\\nworm.\\nThe result of all these researches was a history of the\\nprovince, during the reign of the Dutch governors,\\nwhich he published some years since. There have been\\nvarious opinions as to the literary character of his work,\\nand to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it\\nshould be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy,\\nwhich, indeed, v^ras a little questioned, on its first appear-\\nance, but has since been completely established; and it\\nis now admitted into all historical collections, as a book\\nof i.mquestionable authority.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 53\\nThe old gentleman died shortly after the publication\\nof his work; and now that he is dead and gone, it can-\\nnot do much harm to his memory to say that his time\\nmight have been much better employed in weightier\\nlabors. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his\\nown way.; and though it did now and then kick up the\\ndust a little in the eyes of his neighbors, and grieve\\nthe spirit of some friends, for whom he fet the truest\\ndeference and affection, yet his errors and follies are\\nremembered more in sorrow than in anger, and it\\nbegins to be suspected, that he never intended to injure\\nor offend. But however his memory may be appre-\\nciated by critics, it is still held dear among many folks,\\nwhose good opinion is well worth having; particularly\\nby certain biscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to\\nimprint his likeness on their new-year cakes, and have\\nthus given him a chance for immortality, almost equal\\nto the being stamped on a Waterloo medal, or a Queen\\nAnne s farthing.]\\nWhoever has made a voyage up the Hudson\\nmust remember the Kaatskill mountains. They\\nare a dismembered branch of the great Appa-\\nlachian family, and are seen away to the west\\nof the river, swelling up to a noble height, and\\nlording it over the surrounding country.\\nEvery change of season, every change of\\nweather, indeed, every hour of the day pro-\\nduces some change in thernagical hues and\\nshapes of these mountains and they are re-\\ngarded by all the good wives, far and near, as\\nperfect barometers. When the weather is\\nfair and settled, they are clothed in blue and\\npurple, and print their bold outlines on the\\nclear evening sky; but sometimes, when the\\nrest of the landscape is cloudless, they will\\ngather a hood of gray vapors about their sum-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "54 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun,\\nwill glow and light up like a crown of glory.\\nAt the foot of these fairy mountains, the\\nvoyager may have descried the light smoke\\ncu:fling up from a village, whose shingle roofs\\ngleam among the trees, just where the blue\\ntints of the upland melt away into the fresh\\ngreen of the nearer landscape. It is a little\\nvillage of great antiquity, having been founded\\nby some of the Dutch colonists, in the early\\ntimes of the province just about the begin-\\nning of the government of the good Peter Stuy-\\nvesant (may he rest in peace!) and there were\\nsome of the houses of the original settlers\\nstanding within a few years, built of small\\nyellow bricks, brought from Holland, having\\nlatticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted\\nwith weathercocks.\\nIn that same village, and in one of these very\\nhouses (which, to tell the precise truth, was\\nsadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there\\nlived, many years since, while the country\\nwas yet a province of Great Britain, a simple,\\ngood-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van\\nWinkle. He was a descendant of the Van\\nWinkles who figured so gallantly in the chival-\\nrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accom-\\npanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He\\ninherited, however, but little of the martial\\ncharacter of his ancestors. I have observed\\nthat he was a simple, good-natured man he\\nw^as, moreover, a kind neighbor, and an\\nobedient henpecked husband. Indeed, to the\\nlatter circumstance might be owing that meek-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 55\\nness of spirit which gained him such universal\\npopularity; for those men are apt to be ob-\\nsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under\\nthe discipline of shrews at home. Their tem-\\npers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and\\nmalleable in the fiery furnace of domestic\\ntribulation, and a curtain-lecture is worth all\\nthe sermons in the world for teaching the\\nvirtues of patience and long-suffering. A\\ntermagent wife may, therefore, in some re-\\nspects, be considered a tolerable blessing, and\\nif so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed.\\nCertain it is, that he was a great favorite\\namong all the good wives of the village, who,\\nas usual with the amiable sex, took his part in\\nall family squabbles, and never failed, when-\\never they talked those matters over in their\\nevening gossipings, to lay all the blame on\\nDame Van Winkle. The children of the vil-\\nlage, too, would shout with joy whenever he\\napproached. He assisted at their sports, made\\ntheir playthings, taught them to fly kites and\\nshoot marbles, and told them long stories of\\nghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he\\nwent dodging about the village, he was sur-\\nrounded by a ,troop of them hanging on his\\nskirts, clambering on his back, and playing a\\nthousand tricks on him with impunity; and not\\na dog would bark at him throughout the\\nneighborhood.\\nThe great error in Rip s composition was an\\ninsuperable aversion to all kinds of profitable\\nlabor. It could not be for want of assiduity\\nor perseverance for he would sit on a wet rock,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "56 fHE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwith a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar s\\nlance, and fish all day without a murmur, even\\nthough he should not be encouraged by a sin-\\ngle nibble. He would carry a fowling-piece\\non his shoulder, for hours together, trudging\\nthrough woods and swamps, and up hill and\\ndown dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild\\npigeons. He would never refuse to assist a\\nneighbor even in the roughest toil, and was a\\nforemost man in all country frolics for husk-\\ning Indian corn, or building stone fences; the\\nwomen of the village, too, used to employ him\\nto run their errands, and to do such little odd\\njobs as their less obliging husbands would not\\ndo for them. In a word. Rip was ready to at-\\ntend to anybody s business but his own; but\\nas to doing family duty, and keeping his farm\\nin order, he found it impossible.\\nIn fact, he declared it was of no use to work\\non his farm; it was the most pestilent little\\npiece of ground in the whole country; every-\\nthing about it went wrong, in spite of him.\\nHis fences were continually falling to pieces;\\nhis cow would either go astray, or get among\\nthe cabbages; weeds were sure to grow quick-\\ner in his fields than anywhere else the rain\\nalways made a point of setting in just as he\\nhad some outdoor work to do; so that though\\nhis patrimonial estate had dwindled away un-\\nder his management, acre by acre, until there\\nwas little more left than a mere patch of In-\\ndian corn and potatoes, yet it was the worst-\\nconditioned farm in the neighborhood.\\nHis children; too, were as ragged and v/ild", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 67\\nas if they belonged to nobody. His son Rip,\\nan urchin begotten in his own likeness, prom-\\nised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes\\nof his father. He was generally seen troop-\\ning like a colt at his mother s heels, equipped\\nin a pair of his father s cast-off galligaskins,\\nwhich he had much ado to hold up with one\\nhand, as a fine lady does her train in bad\\nweather.\\nRip Van Winkle, however, was one of those\\nhappy mortals, of foolish, well-oiled disposi-\\ntions, who take the world eas}^ eat white bread\\nor brown, whichever can be got with least\\nthought or trouble, and would rather starve\\non a penny than work for a pound. If left to\\nhimself, he would have whistled life away, in\\nperfect contentment; but his wife kept con-\\ntinually dinning in his ears about his idleness,\\nhis carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing\\non his family. Morning, noon, and night,\\nher tongue was incessantly going, and every-\\nthing he said or did was sure to produce a tor-\\nrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one\\nway of replying to all lectures of the kind,\\nand that, by frequent use, had grown into a\\nhabit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his\\nhead, cast up his eyes, but said nothing.\\nThis, however, always provoked a fresh volley\\nfrom his wife, so that he was fain to draw off\\nhis forces, and take to the outside of the\\nhouse the only side which, in truth, belongs\\nto a henpecked husband.\\nRip s sole domestic adherent was his dog\\nWolf, who was as much henpecked as his mas-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "58 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nter; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as\\ncompanions in idleness, and even looked upon\\nWolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his mas-\\nter s going so often astray. True it is, in all\\npoints of spirit befitting an honorable dog, he\\nwas as courageous an animal as ever scoured\\nthe woods but what courage can withstand\\nthe evil-doing and all-besetting terrors of a\\nwoman s tongue? The moment \u00c2\u00a5/olf entered\\nthe house, his crest fell, his tail drooped to the\\nground, or curled between his legs, he sneaked\\nabout with a gallows air, casting many a side-\\nlong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the\\nleast flourish of a broomstick or ladle, he\\nwould fly to the door with yelping precipita-\\ntion.\\nTimes grew worse and worse with Rip Van\\nWinkle as years of matrimony rolled on a tart\\ntemper never mellows with age, and a sharp\\ntongue is the only edged tool that grows keen-\\ner with constant use. For a long while he\\nused to console himself, when driven from\\nhome, by frequenting a kind of perpetual club\\nof the sages, philosophers, and other idle per-\\nsonages of the village, which held its sessions\\non a bench before a small inn, designated by\\na rubicund portrait of his Majesty George the\\nThird. Here they used to sit in the shade\\nthrough a long, lazy summer s day, talking\\nlistlessly over village gossip, or telling end-\\nless, sleepy stories about nothing. But it\\nwould have been worth any statesman s money\\nto have heard the profound discussions which\\nsometimes took place, when by chance an old", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 59\\nnewspaper fell into their hands from some\\npassing traveler. How solemnly they would\\nlisten to the contents, as drawled out by Der-\\nrick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper\\nlearned little man, who was not to be daunted\\nby the most gigantic word in the dictionary;\\nand how sagely they would deliberate upon\\npublic events some months after they had taken\\nplace.\\nThe opinions of this junto were completely\\ncontrolled by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of\\nthe village, and landlord of the inn, at the\\ndoor of which he took his seat from raorning\\ntill night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the\\nsun, and keep in the shade of a large tree so\\nthat the neighbors could tell the hour by his\\nmovements as accurately as by a snn-dial. It\\nis true, he was rarely heard to speak,, but\\nsmoked his pipe incessantly. His adherents,\\nhowever (for every great man has his adher-\\nents), perfectly understood him, and knew how\\nto gather his opinions. When anything that\\nwas read or related displeased him, he was\\nobserved to smoke his pipe vehemently, and\\nto send forth short, frequent and angry puffs\\nbut when pleased, he would inhale the smoke\\nslowly and tranquilly, and emit it in light and\\nplacid clouds, and sometimes, taking his pipe\\nfrom his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor\\ncurl about his nose, would gravely nod his head\\nin token of perfect approbation.\\nFrom even this stronghold the unlucky Rip\\nwas at length routed by his termagant wife,\\nwho would suddenly break in upon the tran-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "60 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nquillity of the assemblage, and call the mem-\\nbers all to nought nor was that august per-\\nsonage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from\\nthe daring tongue of this terrible virago, who\\ncharged him outright with encouraging her\\nhusband in habits of idleness.\\nPoor Rip was at last reduced almost to de-\\nspair; and his only alternative, to escape from\\nthe labor of the farm and the clamor of his\\nwife, was to take gun in hand, and stroll away\\ninto the woods. Here he would sometimes\\nseat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the\\ncontents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom\\nhe sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in persecu-\\ntion. Poor Wolf, he would say, thy mis-\\ntress leads thee a dog s life of it; but never\\nmind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never\\nwant a friend to stand by thee! Wolf would\\nwag his tail, look wistfully in his master s face,\\nand if dogs can feel pity, I verily believe he\\nreciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.\\nIn a long ramble of the kind, on a fine au-\\ntumnal day. Rip had unconsciously scrambled\\nto one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill\\nmountains. He was after his favorite sport of\\nsquirrel shooting, and the still solitudes had\\nechoed and re-echoed with the reports of his\\ngun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself,\\nlate in the afternoon, on a green knoll, covered\\nwith mountain herbage, that crowned the brow\\nof a precipice. From an opening between the\\ntrees, he could overlook all the lower country\\nfor many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at\\na distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 61\\nhim, moving- on its silent but majestic course,\\nwith the reflection of a purple cloud, or the\\nsail of a lagging bark, here and- there sleeping\\non its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in\\nthe blue highlands.\\nOn the other side he looked down into a deep\\nmountain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the\\nbottom filled with fragments from the impend-\\ning cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected\\nrays of the setting sun. For some time Rip\\nlay musing on this scene; evening was grad-\\nually advancing the mountains began to throw\\ntheir long blue shadows over the valleys he\\nsaw that it would be dark long before he could\\nreach the village; and he heaved a heavy sigh\\nwhen he thought of encountering the terrors\\nof Dame Van Winkle.\\nAs he was about to descend, he heard a voice\\nfrom a distance hallooing: Rip Van Winkle!\\nRip Van Winkle! He looked around,- but\\ncould see nothing but a crow winging its sol-\\nitary flight across the mountain. Rethought\\nhis fancy must have deceived him, and turned\\nagain to descend, when he heard the same cry\\nring through the still evening air, Rip Van\\nWrinkle! Rip, Van Winkle! at the same time\\nWolf bristled up his back, and giving a low\\ngrowl, skulked to his master s side, looking\\nfearfull}^ down into the glen. Rip now felt a\\nvague apprehension stealing over him; he\\nlooked anxiously in the same direction, and\\nperceived a vStrange figure slowly toiling up\\nthe rocks, and bending under the weight of\\nsomething he carried on his back. He was", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "62 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nsurprised to see any human being in this lonely\\nand unfrequented place, but supposing it to be\\nsome one of the neighborhood in need of his\\nassistance, he hastened down to yield it.\\nOn nearer approach, he was still more sur-\\nprised at the singularity of the stranger s ap-\\npearance. He was a short, square-built old\\nfellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled\\nbeard. His dress was of the antique Dutch\\nfashion a cloth jerkin strapped round the\\nwaist several pairs of breeches, the outer one\\nof ample volume, decorated with rows of but-\\ntons down the sides, and bunches at the knees.\\nHe bore on his shoulders a stout keg, that\\nseemed full of liquor, and made signs for Rip\\nto approach and assist him with the load.\\nThough rather shy and distrustful of this new\\nacquaintance, Rip complied with his usual alac-\\nrity; and mutually relieving each other, they\\nclambered up a narrow gully, apparently the\\ndry bed of a mountain torrent. As they as-\\ncended. Rip every now and then heard long\\nrolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed\\nto issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft\\nbetween lofty rocks, toward vs^hich their rug-\\nged path conducted. He paused for an in-\\nstant, but supposing it to be the muttering of\\none of those transient thunder-showers which\\noften take place in the mountain heights, he\\nproceeded. Passing through the ravine, they\\ncame to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre,\\nsurrounded by perpendicular precipices, over\\nthe brinks of which impending trees shot their\\nbranches, so that you only caught glimpses of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 63\\nthe azure sky, and the bright evening cloud.\\nDuring the whole time Rip and his companion\\nhad labored on in silence for though the form-\\ner marveled greatly what could be the object\\nof carrying a keg of liquor up this wild moun-\\ntain, yet there was something strange and in-\\ncomprehensible about the unknown, that in-\\nspired awe, and checked familiarit}^\\nOn entering the amphitheatre, new objects\\nof wonder presented themselves. On a level\\nspot in the center was a company of odd-look-\\ning personages playing at ninepins. They\\nwere dressed in quaint outlandish fashion;\\nsome wore short doublets, others jerkins, with\\nlong knives in their belts, and most of them\\nhad enormous breeches, of similar style with\\nthat of the guide s. Their visages, too, were\\npeculiar; one had a large head, broad face, and\\nsmall piggish eyes the face of another seemed\\nto consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted\\nby a white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little\\nred cock s tail. They all had beards, of vari-\\nous shapes and colors. There was one who\\nseemed to be the commander. He was a stout\\nold gentleman, with a weather-beaten counte-\\nnance he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and\\nhanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red\\nstockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in\\nthem. The whole group reminded Rip of the\\nfigures in an old Flemish painting, in the par-\\nlor of Dominie Van Schaick, the village par-\\nson, and which had been brought over from\\nHolland at the time of the settlement.\\nWhat seemed particularly odd to Rip was,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "64 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthat though these folks were evidently amusing\\nthemselves, yet they maintained the gravest\\nfaces, the most mysterious silence, and were,\\nwithal, the most melancholy party of pleasure\\nhe had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted\\nthe stillness of the scene but the noise of the\\nballs, which, whenever they were rolled,\\nechoed along the mountains like rumbling\\npeals of thunder.\\nAs Rip and his companion approached them,\\nthey suddenly desisted from their pla}^, and\\nstared at him with such a fixed statue-like gaze,\\nand such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre counte-\\nnances, that his heart turned within him, and\\nhis knees smote together. His companion now\\nemptied the contents of the keg into large flag-\\nons, and made signs to him to wait upon the\\ncompany. He obeyed with fear and tremb-\\nling; they quaffed the liquor in profound\\nsilence, and then returned to their game.\\nBy degrees. Rip s awe and apprehension sub-\\nsided. He even ventured, when no eye was\\nfixed upon him, to taste the beverage which\\nhe found had much of the flavor of excellent\\nHollands, He was naturally a thirsty soul,\\nand was soon tempted to repeat the draught.\\nOne taste provoked another; and he reiterated\\nhis visits to the flagon so often, that at length\\nhis sense were overpowered, his eyes swam in\\nhis head, his head gradually declined, and he\\nfell into a deep sleep.\\nOn waking, he found himself on the green\\nknoll whence he had first seen the old man of\\nthe glen. He rubbed his eyes it was a bright", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 65\\nsunny morning. The birds were hopping and\\ntwittering among the bushes, and the eagle\\nwas wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure\\nmountain breeze. Surely, thought Rip, I\\nhave not slept here all night. He recalled\\nthe occurrences before he fell asleep.^ The\\nstrange man with the keg of liquor the\\nmountain ravine the wild retreat among the\\nrocks the wo-begone party at ninepins the\\nflagon Oh that flagon that wicked flagon\\nthought Rip what excuse shall I make to\\nDame Van Winkle?\\nHe looked around for his gun, but in place\\nof the clean well-oiled fowling-piece, he found\\nan old fire-lock lying by him, the barrel en-\\ncrusted with rust, the lock falling oil, and the\\nstock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the\\ngrave roysterers of the mountains had put a\\ntrick upon him, and, having dosed him with\\nliquor, had robbed him of his gun Wolf, too,\\nhad disappeared, but he might have strayed\\naway after a squirrel or partridge. He whis-\\ntled after him and shouted his name, but all in\\nvain; the echoes repeated his whistle and\\nshout, but no dog was to be seen.\\nHe determined to revisit the scene of the\\nlast evening s gambol, and if he met with any\\nof the party, to demand his dog and gun. As\\nhe rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the\\njoints, and wanting in his usual activity.\\nThese mountain beds do not agree with me,\\nthought Rip, and if this frolic should lay me\\nup with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall have a\\nblessed time with Dame Van V/inkle. With\\n5 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "66 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nsome difficulty he got down into the glen he\\nfound the gully up which he and his companion\\nhad ascended the preceding evening; but to\\nhis astonishment a mountain stream was now\\nfoaming down it, leaping from rock to rock,\\nand filling the glen with babbling murmurs.\\nHe, however, made shift to scramble up its\\nsides, working his toilsome way through thick-\\nets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel; and\\nsometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild\\ngrape vines that twisted their coils and tendrils\\nfrom tree to tree, and spread a kind of net-\\nwork in his path.\\nAt length he reached to where the ravine\\nhad opened through the cliffs to the amphithe-\\natre but no traces of such opening remained.\\nThe rocks presented a high impenetrable wall,\\nover which the torrent came tumbling in a\\nsheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad\\ndeep basin, black from the shadows of the sur-\\nrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was\\nbrought to a stand. He again called and whis-\\ntled after his dog; he was only answered by\\nthe cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting\\nhigh in the air about a dry tree that overhung\\na sunny precipice; and who, secure in their\\nelevation, seemed to look down and scoff at\\nthe poor man s perplexities. What was to be\\ndone? The morning was passing away, and Rip\\nfelt famished for want of his breakfast. He\\ngrieved to give up his dog and gun he dread-\\ned to meet his wife but it would not do to\\nstarve among the mountains. He shook his\\nhead, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 67\\na heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his\\nsteps homeward.\\nAs he approached the village, he met a num-\\nber of people, but none whom he knew, which\\nsomewhat surprised him, for he had thought\\nhimself acquainted with every one in the\\ncountry round. Their dress, too, was of a\\ndifferent fashion from that to which he was\\naccustomed. They all stared at him with\\nequal marks of surprise and whenever they\\ncast eyes upon him, invariably stroked their\\nchins. The constant recurrence of this ges-\\nture, induced Rip involuntarily, to do the same,\\nwhen, to his astonishment, he found his beard\\nhad grown a foot long!\\nHe had now entered the skirts of the village.\\nA troop of strange children ran at his heels,\\nhooting after him, and pointing at his gray\\nbeard. The dogs, too, not one of which he\\nrecognized for an old acquaintance, barked at\\nhim as he passed. The very village was\\naltered; it was larger and more populous.\\nThere were rows of houses which he had never\\nseen before, and those which had been his fa-\\nmiliar haunts had disappeared. Strange names\\nwere over the doors strange faces at the win-\\ndows everything was strange. His mind now\\nmisgave him he began to doubt whether both\\nhe and the world around him were not be-\\nwitched. Surely, this was his native village,\\nwhich he had left but a day before. There\\nstood the Kaatskill mountains there ran the\\nsilver Hudson at a distance there was every\\nhill and dale precisely as it had always been", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "68 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nRip was sorely perplexed That flagon last\\nnight, thought he, has addled my poor head\\nsadly!\\nIt was with some difficulty that he found the\\nway to his own house, which he approached\\nwith silent awe, expecting every moment to\\nhear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He\\nfound the house gone to decay the roof had\\nfallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors\\noff the hinges. A half-starved dog, that looked\\nlike Wolf, was skulking about it. Rip called\\nhim by name, but the cur snarled, showed his\\nteeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut,\\nindeed. My very dog, sighed poor Rip,\\nhas forgotten me!\\nHe entered the house, which, to tell the truth.\\nDame Van Winkle had always kept in neat\\norder. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently\\nabandoned. This desolateness overcame all\\nhis connubial fears he called loudly for his\\nwife and children the lonely chambers rang\\nfor a moment with his voice, and then all\\nagain was silence.\\nHe now hurried forth, and hastened to his\\nold resort, the village inn but it too was\\ngone. A large rickety wooden building stood\\nin its place, with great gaping windows, some\\nof them broken, and mended with old hats and\\npetticoats, and over the door was painted,\\nThe Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle.\\nInstead of the great tree that used to shelter\\nthe quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now\\nv/as reared a tall naked pole, with something\\non the top that looked like a red night-cap, and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 69\\nfrom it was fluttering a flag, on which was a\\nsingular assemblage of stars and stripes all\\nthis was strange and incomprehensible. He\\nrecognized on the sign, however, the ruby face\\nof King George, under which he had smoked\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0so many a peaceful pipe, but even this was\\nsingularly metamorphosed. The red coat was\\nchanged for one of blue and buff, a sword was\\nheld in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head\\nwas decorated with a cocked hat, and under-\\nneath was painted in large characters, Gen-\\neral Washington.\\nThere was, as usual, a crowd of folk about\\nthe door, but none that Rip recollected. The\\nvery character of the people seemed changed.\\nThere was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone\\nabout it, instead of the accustomed phlegm\\nand drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain\\nfor the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad\\nface, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering\\nclouds of tobacco-smoke, instead of idle speech-\\nes; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling\\nforth the contents of an ancient newspaper.\\nIn place of these, a lean, bilious-looking fel-\\nlow, with his pockets full of handbills, was\\nharanguing vehemently about rights of citizens\\nelections members of Congress liberty\\nBunker s hill heroes of seventy-six and\\nother words, which were a perfect Babylonish\\njargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.\\nThe appearance of Rip, with his long, griz-\\nzled beard, his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth\\ndress, and the army of women and children at\\nhis heels, soon attracted the attention of the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "70 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ntavern politicians. They crowded round him,\\neyeing him from head to foot, with great curi-\\nosity. The orator bustled up to him, and,\\ndrawing him partly aside, inquired, on which\\nside he voted? Rip stared in vacant stupid-\\nity. Another short but busy little fellow\\npulled him by the arm, and rising on tiptoe,\\ninquired in his ear, whether he was Federal\\nor Democrat. Rip was equally at a loss to\\ncomprehend the question when a knowing,\\nself-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked\\nhat, made his way through the crowd, putting\\nthem to the right and left with his elbows as\\nhe passed, and planting himself before Van\\nWinkle, with one arm akimbo, the other rest-\\ning on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat\\npenetrating, as it were, into his very soul,\\ndemanded in an austere tone, What brought\\nhim to the election with a gun on his shoul-\\nder, and a mob at his heels; and whether he\\nmeant to breed a riot in the village?\\nAlas, gentlemen! cried Rip, somewhat\\ndismayed, I am a poor, quiet man, a native of\\nthe place, and a loyal subject of the King, God\\nbless him!\\nHere a general shout burst from the bystand-\\ners a tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! hustle\\nhim! away with him! It was with great\\ndifficulty that the self-important man in the\\ncocked hat restored order and having assumed\\na tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of\\nthe unknown culprit, what he came there for,\\nand whom he was seeking. The poor man\\nhumbly assured him that he meant no harm,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 71\\nbut merely came there in search of some of\\nhis neighbors, who used to keep about the tav-\\nern.\\nWell who are they? name them.\\nRip bethought himself a moment, and in-\\nquired, Where s Nicholas Vedder?\\nThere was a silence for a little while, when\\nan old man replied, in a thin, piping voice,\\nNicholas Vedder? why, he is dead and gone\\nthese, eighteen years! There was a wooden\\ntombstone in the churchyard that used to tell\\nall about him, but that s rotten and gone too,\\nWhere s Brom Dutcher?\\nOh, he went off to the army in the begin-\\nning of the war; some say he was killed at the\\nstorming of Stony Point others say he was\\ndrowned in a squall at the foot of Antony s\\nNose. I don t know\u00e2\u0080\u0094 he never came back\\nagain.\\nWhere s Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?\\nHe went oif to the wars, too; was a great\\nmilitia general, and is now in Congress.\\nRip s heart died away, at hearing of these\\nsad changes in his home and friends, and find-\\ning himself thus alone in the world. Every\\nanswer puzzled him, too, by treating of such\\nenormous lapses of time, and of matters which\\nhe could not understand: war Congress\\nStony Point he had no courage to ask after\\nany more friends, but cried out in despair,\\nDoes nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?\\nOh, Rip Van Winkle! exclaimed two or\\nthree, oh, to be sure! that s Rip Van Winkle\\nyonder, leaning against the tree.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "72 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nRip looked, and behold a precise counterpart\\nof himself as he went up the mountain ap-\\nparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The\\npoor fellow was now completely confounded.\\nHe doubted his own identity, and whether he\\nwas himself or another man. In the midst of\\nhis bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat\\ndemanded who he was, and what was his\\nname?\\nGod knows! exclaimed he at his wit s\\nend; I m not myself I m somebody else\\nthat s me yonder no that s somebody else,\\ngot into my shoes^I was myself last night,\\nbut I fell asleep on the mountain, and they ve\\nchanged my gun, and everything s changed,\\nand I m changed, and I can t tell what s my\\nname, or who I am!\\nThe bystanders began now to look at each\\nother, nod, wink significantly, and tap their\\nfingers against their foreheads. There was a\\nwhisper, also, about securing the gun, and\\nkeeping the old fellow from doing mischief\\nat the very suggestion of which, the self-im-\\nportant man with the cocked hat retired with\\nsome precipitation. At this critical moment a\\nfresh, comely woman passed through the\\nthrong to get a peep at the gray-bearded man.\\nShe had a chubby child in her arms, which,\\nfrightened at his looks, began to cry. Hush,\\nRip, cried she, hush, you little fool; the old\\nman won t hurt you. The name of the child,\\nthe air of the mother, the tone of her voice,\\nall awakened a train of recollections in his\\nmind.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 73\\nWhat is your name, my good woman?\\nasked he.\\nJudith Gardenier.\\nAnd your father s name?\\nAh, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his\\nname, but it s twenty years since he went away\\nfrom home with his gun, and never has been\\nheard of since, his dog came home without\\nhim but whether he shot himself, or was car-\\nried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I\\nwas then but a little girl.\\nRip had but one more question to ask; but\\nhe put it with a faltering voice\\nWhere s your mother?\\nOh, she, too, had died but a short time\\nsince she broke a blood vessel in a fit of pas-\\nsion at a New England pedler.\\nThere was a drop of comfort at least in this\\nintelligence. The honest man could contain\\nhimself no longer. He caught his daughter\\nand her child in his arms. I am your father!\\ncried he Young Rip Van Winkle once old\\nRip Van Winkle now Does nobody know poor\\nRip Van Winkle?\\nAll stood amazed, until an old woman, tot-\\ntering out from among the crowd, put her hand\\nto her brow, and peering under it in his face\\nfor a moment exclaimed, Sure enough, it is\\nRip Van Winkle it is himself. Welcom.e home\\nagain, old neighbor. Why, where have you\\nbeen these twenty long years?\\nRip s story was soon told, for the Vv-hole\\ntwenty years had been to him but as one night.\\nThe neighbors stared when they heard it some\\n6 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "74 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwere seen to wink at each other, and put their\\ntongues in their cheeks; and the self-impor-\\ntant man in the cocked hat, who, when the\\nalarm was over, had returned to the field,\\nscrewed down the corners of his mouth, and\\nshook his head upon which there was a gen-\\neral shaking of the head throughout the assem-\\nblage.\\nIt was determined, however, to take the\\nopinion of old Peter Vanderdonk, who was\\nseen slowly advancing up the road. He was\\na descendant of the historian of that name,\\nwho wrote one of the earliest accounts of the\\nprovince. Peter was the most ancient inhabi-\\ntant of the village, and well versed in all the\\nwonderful events and traditions of the neigh-\\nborhood. He recollected Rip at once, and cor-\\nroborated his story in the most satisfactory\\nmanner. He assured the company that it was\\na fact, handed down from his ancestor, the his-\\ntorian, that the Kaatskill mountains had\\nalways been haunted by strange beings. That\\nit was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hud-\\nson, the first discoverer of the river and\\ncountry, kept a kind of vigil there every\\ntwenty years, with his crew of the Half-moon\\nbeing permitted in this way to revisit the\\nscenes of his enterprise, and keep a guardian\\neye upon the river and the great city called by\\nhis name. That his father had once seen\\nthem in their old Dutch dresses playing at\\nninepins in the hollow of the mountain; and\\nthat he himself had heard, one summer after-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 75\\nnoon, the sound of their balls, like distant\\npeals of thunder.\\nTo make a long story short, the company\\nbroke up, and returned to the more important\\nconcerns of the election. Rip s daughter\\ntook him home to live with her; she had a\\nsnug, well-furnished house, and a stout\\ncheery farmer for a husband, whom Rip recol-\\nlected for one of the urchins that used to climb\\nupon his back. As to Rip s son and heir, who\\nwas the ditto of himself, seen leaning against\\nthe tree, he was employed to work on the\\nfarm but evinced an hereditary disposition\\nto attend to anything else but his business.\\nRip now resumed his old walks and habits;\\nhe soon found many of his former cronies,\\nthough all rather the worse for the wear and\\ntear of time; and preferred making friends\\namong the rising generation, with whom he\\nsoon grew into great favor.\\nHaving nothing to do at home, and having\\narrived at that happy age when a man can be\\nidle with impunity, he took his place once\\nmore on the bench, at the inn door, and was\\nreverenced as one of the patriarchs of the vil-\\nlage, and a chronicle of the old times before\\nthe war. It was some time before he could\\nget into the regular track of gossip, or could\\nbe made to comprehend the strange events\\nthat had taken place during his torpor. How\\nthat there had been a revolutionary war\\nthat the country had thrown off the yoke of\\nold England and that, instead of being a sub-\\nject to his Majesty George the Third, he was", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "76 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nnow a free citizen of the United States. Rip\\nin fact was no politician the changes of states\\nand empires made but little impression on\\nhim but there was one species of despotism\\nunder which he had long groaned and that was\\npetticoat government. Happily, that was\\nat an end he had got his neck out of the yoke\\nof matrimony, and could go in and out when-\\never he pleased, without dreading the tyranny\\nof Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her name\\nwas mentioned, however, he shook his head,\\nshrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes\\nwhich might pass either for an expression of\\nresignation to his fate, or joy at his deliver-\\nance.\\nHe used to tell his story to every stranger\\nthat arrived at Mr. Doolittle s hotel. He was\\nobserved, at first, to vary on some points\\nevery time he told it, which was, doubtless,\\nowing to his having so recently awaked. It\\nat last settled down precisely to the tale I have\\nrelated, and not a man, woman, or child in\\nthe neighborhood but knew it by heart. Some\\nalways pretended to doubt the reality of it, i\\nand insisted that Rip had been out of his head,\\nand that this was one point on which he\\nalways remained flighty. The old Dutch in-\\nhabitants, however, almost universally gave it\\nfull credit Even to this day, they never\\nhear a thunder-storm of a summer afternoon\\nabout the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick\\nHudson and his crew are at their game of\\nninepins; and it is a common wish of all hen-\\npecked husbands in the neighborhood, when", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 77\\nlife hangs heavy on their hands, that they\\nmight have a quieting draught out of Rip Van\\nWinkle s flagon.\\nNote. The foregoing tale, one would suspect, had\\nbeen suggested to Mr. Knickerbocker by a httle Ger-\\nman superstition about the Emperor Frederick der\\nRothbart and the Kypphauser mountain; the sub-\\njoined note, however, which he had appended to the\\ntale, shows that it is an absolute fact, narrated with his\\nusual fidelity.\\nThe story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible\\nto many, but nevertheless I give it my full belief, for I\\nknow the vicinity of our old Dutch settlemeats to have\\nbeen very subject to marvelous events and appear-\\nances. Indeed, I have heard many stranger stories\\nthan this, in the villages along the Hudson; all ot\\nwhich were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt.\\nI have even talked with Rip Van Winkle myself, who,\\nwhen last I saw him, was a very venerable old man,\\nand so perfectly rational and consistent on every other\\npoint, that I think no conscientious person could refuse\\nto take this into the bargain nay, I have seen a certifi-\\ncate on the subject taken before a country justice, and\\nsigned with a cross, in the justice s own handwriting.\\nThe story, therefore, is beyond the possibility of doubt.\\nD. K.\\nPostscript. The following are traveling notes from\\na memorandum -book of Mr. Knickerbocker:\\nThe Kaatsberg or Catskill mountains have always\\nbeen a region full of fable. The Indians considered\\nthem the abode of spirits, who influenced the weather,\\nspreading sunshine or clouds over the landscape, and\\nsending good or bad hunting seasons. They were ruled\\nby an old squaw spirit, said to be their mother. She\\ndwelt on the highest peak of the Catskill s, and had\\ncharge of the doors of day and night to open and shut\\nthem at the proper hour. She hung up the new moons\\nin the skies, and cut up the old ones into stars. In\\ntimes of drought, if properly propitiated, she would\\nspin light summer clouds out of cobwebs and morning", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "78 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ndew, and send them off from the crest of the motin-\\ntain, flake after flake, like flakes of carded cotton, to\\nfloat in the air until, dissolved by the heat of the sun,\\nthey would fall in gentle showers, causing the grass to\\nspring, the fruits to ripen, and the corn to grow an\\ninch an hour. If displeased, however, she would\\nbrew up clouds black as ink, sitting in the midst of\\nthem like a bottle-bellied spider in the midst of its web;\\nand when these clouds broke, woe betide the valleys\\nIn old times, says the Indian traditions, there was a\\nkind of Manitou or Spirit, who kept about the wildest\\nrecesses of the Catskill mountains, and took a mischiev-\\nous pleasure in wreaking all kinds of evils and vexa-\\ntions upon the red men. Sometimes he would assume\\nthe form of a bear, a panther, or a deer; lead the bewil-\\ndered hunter a weary chase through tangled forests and\\namong ragged rocks, and then spring off v/ith a loud\\nlie! ho! leaving him aghast on the brink of a bettling\\nprecipice or raging torrent.\\nThe favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. It\\nis a great rock or cliff on the loneliest part of the moun-\\ntains, and, from the flowering vines which clamber\\nabout it, and the wild flowers which abound in its\\nneighborhood, is known by the name of the Garden\\nRock. Near the foot of it is a small lake, the haunt of\\nthe solitary bittern, with water-snakes basking in the\\nsun on the leaves of the pond-lilies which lie on the sur-\\nface. This place was held in great awe by the Indians,\\ninsomuch that the boldest hunter would not pursue his\\ngame within its precincts. Once upon a time, how-\\never, a hunter who had lost his way penetrated to the\\nGarden Rock, where he beheld a number of gourds\\nplaced in the crotches of trees. One of these he seized\\ntind made off with it, but in the hurry of his retreat he\\nlet it fall among the rocks, when a great stream gushed\\nforth, which washed him away and swept him down\\nprecipices, where he was dashed to pieces, and the\\nstream made its way to the Hudson, and continues to\\nflow to the present day, being the identical stream\\nknown by the name of the Kaaterskill.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 79\\nENGLISH WRITERS* ON AMERICA.\\nMethinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant\\nnation, rousing herself like a strong man after sleep,\\nand shaking her invincible locks methinks I see her as\\nan eagle, mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her\\nendazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam. Milton on\\nthe Liberty of the Press.\\nIt is with feelings of deep regret that I ob-\\nserve the literary animosity daily growing up\\nbetween England and America. Great curi-\\nosity has been awakened of late with respect\\nto the United States, and the London press\\nhas teemed with volumes of travels through\\nthe Republic; but they seem intended to dif-\\nfuse error rather thna knowledge and so suc-\\ncessful have they been, that, notwithstanding\\nthe constant intercourse between the nations,\\nthere is no people concerning whom the great\\nmass of the British public have less pure infor-\\nmation, or entertain more numerous preju-\\ndices.\\nEnglish travelers are the best and the worst\\nin the world. Where no motives of pride or\\ninterest intervene, none can equal them for\\nprofound and philosophical views of society, or\\nfaithful and graphical description of external\\nobjects; but when either the interest or repu-\\ntation of their own country comes in collision\\nwith that of another, they go to the opposite", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "80 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nextreme, and forget their usual probity and\\ncandor, in the indulgence of splenetic remark,\\nand an illiberal spirit of ridicule.\\nHence, their travels are more honest and\\naccurate, the more remote the country de-\\nscribed. I would place implicit confidence in\\nan Englishman s description of the regions\\nbeyond the cataracts of the Nile of unknown\\nislands in the Yellow Sea; of the interior of\\nIndia or of any other tract which other travel-\\ners might be apt to picture out with the illu-\\nsions of their fancies. But I would cautiously\\nreceive his account of his immediate neigh-\\nbors, and of those nations with which he is in\\nhabits of most frequent intercourse. However\\nI might be disposed to trust his probity, I dare\\nnot trust his prejudices.\\nIt has also been the peculiar lot of our\\ncountry to be visited by the worst kind of\\nEnglish travelers. When men of philosophi-\\ncal spirit and cultivated minds have been sent\\nfrom England to ransack the poles, to pene-\\ntrate the deserts, and to study the manners\\nand customs of barbarous nations, with which\\nshe can have no permanent intercourse of\\nprofit or pleasure; it has been left to the\\nbroken-down tradesman, the Scheming adven-\\nturer, the wandering mechanic, the Manches-\\nter and Birmingham agent, to be her oracles\\nrespecting America. From such sources she\\nis content to receive her information respect-\\ning a countr}^ in a singular state of moral and\\nphysical development a country in which one\\nof the greatest political experiments in the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 81\\nhistory of llie world is now performing and\\nw^hich presents the most profound and momen-\\ntous studies to the statesman and the philoso-\\npher.\\nThat such men should give prejudical\\naccounts of Am.erica, is not a matter of sur-\\nprise. The themes it off ers for contemplation,\\nare too vast and elevated for their capacities.\\nThe national character is yet in a state of fer-\\nmentation it may have its frothiness and sedi-\\nment, but its ingredients are sound and whole-\\nsome it has already given proofs of powerful\\nand generous qualities; and the whole promises\\nto settle dov/n into something substantially\\nexcellent. But the causes which are operating\\nto strengthen and ennoble it, and its daily in-\\ndications of admirable properties, are all lost\\nupon these purblind observers; who are only\\naffected by the little asperities incident to its\\npresent situation. They are capable of judg-\\ning only of the surface of things of those mat-\\nters which come in contact with their private\\ninterests and personal gratifications. They\\nmiss some of the snug conveniences and petty\\ncomforts which belong to an old, highly-fin-\\nished, and over-populous state of society;\\nwhere the ranks of useful labor are crowded,\\nand many earn a painful and servile subsist-\\nence, by studying the very caprices of appetite\\nand self-indulgence. These minor comforts,\\nhow^ever, are all-important in the estimation\\nof narrow minds which either do not perceive,\\nor will not acknowledge, that they are more", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "82 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthan counterbalanced among us, by great and\\ngenerally diffused blessings.\\nThey may, perhaps, have been disappointed\\nin some unreasonable expectation of sudden\\ngain. They may have pictured America to\\nthemselves an El Dorado, where gold and silver\\nabounded, and the natives were lacking in\\nsagacity, and where they were to become\\nstrangely and suddenly rich, in some unfore-\\nseen but easy manner. The same weakness\\nof mind that indulges absurd expectations,\\nproduces petulance in disappointment. Such\\npersons become embittered against the country\\non finding that there, as everywhere else, a\\nman must sow before he can reap must win\\nwealth by industry and talent; and must con-\\ntend with the common difficulties of nature,\\nand the shrewdness of an intelligent and en-\\nterprising people.\\nPerhaps, through mistaken or ill-directed\\nhospitality, or from the prompt disposition to\\ncheer and countenance the stranger, preva-\\nlent among my countrymen, they may have\\nbeen treated with unwonted respect in Amer-\\nica; and, having been accustomed all their\\nlives to consider themselves below the surface\\nof good society, and brought up in a servile\\nfeeling of inferiority, they become arrogant,\\non the common boon of civility they attribute\\nto the lowliness of others their own elevation\\nand underrate a society where there are no\\nartificial distinctions, and where, by any chance,\\nsuch individuals as themselves can rise to con-\\nsequence.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 83\\nOne would suppose, however, that informa-\\ntion coming from such sources, on a subject\\nwhere the truth is so desirable, would be re-\\nceived with caution by the censors of the press;\\nthat the motives of these men, their veracity,\\ntheir opportunities of inquiry and observation,\\nand their capacities for judging correctly, would\\nbe rigorously scrutinized, before their evidence\\nwas admitted, in such sweeping extent,\\nagainst a kindred nation. The very reverse,\\nhowever, is the case, and it furnishes a striking\\ninstance of human inconsistency. Nothing\\ncan surpass the vigilance with which English\\ncritics will examine the credibility of the trav-\\neler who publishes an account of some distant\\nand comparatively unimportant country.\\nHow warily will they compare the measure-\\nments of a pyramid or the description of a\\nruin and hov/ sternly will they censure any in-\\naccuracy in these contributions of merely curi-\\nous knowledge, while they will receive, with\\neagerness and unhesitating faith, the gross\\nmisrepresentations of coarse and obscure writ-\\ners, concerning a country with which their\\nown is placed in the most important and deli-\\ncate relations. Nay, they will even make these\\napocryphal volumes text-books, on which to\\nenlarge, with a zeal and an ability worthy of a\\nmore generous cause.\\nI shall not, however, dwell on this irksome and\\nhackneyed topic; nor should I have adverted\\nto it, but for the undue interest apparently\\ntaken in it by my countrymen, and certain in-\\njurious effects which I apprehend it might pro-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "84 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nduce upon the national feeling. We attach too\\nmuch consequence to these attacks. They can-\\nnot do us any essential injury. The tissue of\\nmisrepresentations attempted to be woven\\nround us, are like cobwebs woven round the\\nlimbs of an infant giant. Our country contin-\\nually outgrows them. One falsehood after an-\\nother falls off of itself. We have but to live\\non, and every day we live a whole volume of\\nrefutation.\\nAll the writers of England united, if we\\ncould for a moment suppose their great minds\\nstooping to so unworthy a combination, could\\nnot conceal our rapidly growing importance\\nand matchless prosperity. They could not\\nconceal that these are owing, not merely to\\nphysical and local, but also to moral causes\u00e2\u0080\u0094 to\\nthe political liberty, the general diffusion of\\nknowledge, the prevalence of sound, moral,\\nand religious principles, which give force and\\nsustained energy to the character of a people,\\nand which, in fact, have been the acknowl-\\nedged and wonderful supporters of their own\\nnational power and glory.\\nBut why are we so exquisitely alive to the\\naspersions of England? Why do we suffer our-\\nselves to be so affected by the contumely she\\nhas endeavored to cast upon us? It is not in\\nthe opinion of England alone that honor lives,\\nand reputation has its being. The world at\\nlarge is the arbiter of a nation s fame: with\\nits thousand eyes it witnesses a nation s deeds,\\nand from their collective testimony is national\\nglory or national disgrace established.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 85\\nFor ourselves, therefore, it is comparatively\\nof but little importance whether England does\\nus justice or not; it is, perhaps, of far more\\nimportance to herself. She is instilling anger\\nand resentment into the bosom of a youthful\\nnation, to grow with its growth, and strength-\\nen with its strength. If in America, as some\\nof her writers are laboring to convince her,\\nshe is hereafter to find an invidious rival, and\\na gigantic foe, she may thank those very writ-\\ners for having provoked rivalship, and irritated\\nhostility. Every one knows the all-pervading\\ninfluence of literature at the present day, and\\nhow much the opinions and passions of man-\\nkind are under its control. The mere contests\\nof the sword are temporary their wounds are\\nbut in the flesh, and it is the pnde of the gen-\\nerous to forgive and forget them but the slan-\\nders of the pen pierce to the heart they rankle\\nlongest in the noblest spirits; they dwell ever\\npresent in the mind, and render it morbidly\\nsensitive to the most trifling collision. It is\\nbut seldom that any one overt act produces hos-\\ntilities between twomations; there exists, most\\ncommonly, a previous jealousy and ill-will, a\\npredisposition to take offence. Trace these to\\ntheir cause, and how often will they be found\\nto originate in the mischievous effusions of\\nmercenary writers, who, secure in their closets\\nand for ignominious bread, concoct and circu-\\nlate the venom that is to inflame the generous\\nand the brave.\\nI am not laying too much stress upon this\\npoint; for it applies most emphatically to our", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "86 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nparticular case. Over no nation does the press\\nhold a more absolute control than over the peo-\\nple of America; for the universal education of\\nthe poorest classes makes every individual a\\nreader. There is nothing published in Eng-\\nland on the subject of our country, that does\\nnot circulate through every part of it. There\\nis not a calumny dropt from an English pen,\\nnor an unworthy sarcasm uttered by an Eng-\\nlish statesman, that does not go to blight good-\\nwill, and add to the mass of latent resentment.\\nPossessing, then, as England does, the foun-\\ntain-head whence the literature of the language\\nflows, how completely is it in her power, and\\nhow truly is it her duty, to make it the medi-\\num of amiable and magnanimous feeling a\\nstream where the two nations might meet to-\\ngether and drink in peace and kindness.\\nShould she, however, persist in turning it to\\nwaters of bitterness, the time may come when\\nshe may repent her folly. The present friend-\\nship of America may be of but little moment\\nto her; but the future destinies of that country\\ndo not admit of a doubt; over those of Eng-\\nland, there lower some shadows of uncertainty.\\nShould, then, a day of gloom arrive should\\nthose reverses overtake her, from which the\\nproudest empires have not been exempt she\\nmay look back with regret at her infatuation,\\nin repulsing from her side a nation she might\\nhave grappled to her bosom, and thus destroy-\\ning her only chance for real friendship beyond\\nthe boundaries of her own dominions.\\nThere is a general impression in England,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 87\\nthat the people of the United States are\\ninimical to the parent country. It is one of the\\nerrors which have been diligently propagated\\nby designing writers. There is, doubtless\\nconsiderable hostility, and a general soreness\\nat the illiberality of the English press; but,\\ncollectively speaking, the propossessions of the\\npeople are strongly in favor of England.\\nIndeed, at one time they amounted, in many\\nparts of the Union, to an absurd degree of\\nbigotry. The bare name of Englishman was\\na passport to the confidence and hospitality of\\nevery family, and too often gave a transient\\ncurrency to the worthless and the ungrateful.\\nThroughout the country, there was something\\nof enthusiasm connected with the idea of Eng-\\nland. We looked to it with a hollowed feeling\\nof tenderness and veneration, as the land of\\nour forefathers the august repository of the\\nmonuments and antiquities of our race the\\nbirthplace and mausoleum of the sages and\\nheroes of our paternal history. After our own\\ncountry, there was none in whose glory we\\nmore delighted none whose good opinion we\\nwere more anxious to possess none toward\\nwhich our hearts yearned with such throbbings\\nof warm consanguinity. Even during the late\\nwar, whenever there was the least opportunity\\nfor kind feelings to spring forth, it was the\\ndelight of the generous spirits of our country\\nto show that, in the midst of hostilities, they\\nstill kept alive the sparks of future friendship.\\nIs all this to be at an end? Is this golden\\nband of kindred sympathies, so rare between", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "86 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nnations, to be broken forever?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Perhaps it is\\nfor the best it may dispel an allusion which\\nmight have kept us in mental vassalage;\\nwhich might have interfered occasionally with\\nour true interests, and prevented the growth\\nof proper national pride. But it is hard to\\ngive up the kindred tie and there are feel-\\nings dearer than interest closer to the heart\\nthan pride that will still make us cast back\\na look of regret as we wander farther and farther\\nfrom the paternal roof, and lament the way-\\nwardness of the parent that would repel the\\naffections of the child.\\nShort-sighted and injudicious, however, as\\nthe conduct of England m.ay be in this system\\nof aspersion, recrimination on our part would\\nbe equally ill-judged. I speak not of a prompt\\nand spirited vindication of our country, or the\\nkeenest castigation of her slanderers but I\\nallude to a disposition to retaliate in kind, to\\nretort sarcasm and inspire prejudice, which\\nseems to be spreading widely among our\\nwriters. Let us gu*ard particularly against\\nsuch a temper; for it would double the evil,\\ninstead of redressing the wrong. Nothing is\\nso easy and inviting as the retort of abuse and\\nsarcasm; but it is a paltry and an unprofitable\\ncontest. It is the alternative of a morbid\\nmind, fretted into petulance, rather than\\nwarmed into indignation. If England is\\nwilling to permit the mean jealousies of trade,\\nor the rancorous animosities of politics, to\\ndeprave the integrity of her press, and poison\\nthe fountain of public opinion, let us beware", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 89\\nof her example. She may deem it her interest\\nto diffuse error, and engender antipathy., for\\nthe purpose of checking emigration we have\\nho purpose of the kind to serve. Neither\\nhave we any spirit of national jealousy to\\ngratify; for as yet, in all our rivalships with\\nEngland, we are the rising and the gaining\\nparty. There can be no end to answer, there-\\nfore, but the gratification of resentment a\\nmere spirit of retaliation and even that is\\nimpotent. Our retorts are never republished\\nin England they fall short, therefore, of their\\naim but they foster a querulous and peevish\\ntemper among our writers; they sour the\\nsweet flow of our early literature, and sow\\nthorns and brambles among its blossoms.\\nWhat is still worse, they circulate through our\\nown country, and, as far as they have effect,\\nexcite virulent national prejudices. This last\\nis the evil most especially to be deprecated.\\nGoverned, as we are, entirel}^ by public\\nopinion, the utmost care should be taken to\\npreserve the purity of the public mind. Knowl-\\nedge is power, and truth is knowledge who-\\never, therefore, knowingly propagates a\\nprejudice, wilfully saps the foundation of his\\ncountry s strength.\\nThe members of a republic, above^ all other\\nmen, should be candid and dispassionate*\\nThey are, individually, portions of the sover-\\neign mind and sovereign will, and should be\\nenabled to come to all questions of national\\nconcern with calm and unbiassed judgments.\\nFrom the peculiar nature of our relations witli", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "90 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nEngland, we must have more frequent ques-\\ntions of a difficult and delicate character with\\nher, than with any other nation, questions;\\nthat affect the most acute and excitable feel- i\\nings: and as, in the adjustment of these, our i\\nnational measures must ultimately be deter-\\nmined by national measures must ultimately I\\nbe determined by popular sentiment, we cannot\\nbe too anxiously attentive to purify it from all\\nlatent passion or prepossession.\\nOpening-, too, as we do, an asylum for\\nstrangers from every portion of the earth, we\\nshould receive all with impartiality. It should\\nbe our pride to exhibit an example of one\\nnation, at least, destitute of national antipa-\\nthies, and exercising, not merely the overt\\nacts of hospitality, but those more rare and\\nnoble courtesies which spring from liberality\\nof opinion.\\nWhat have we to do with national prej-\\nudices? They are the inveterate diseases of\\nold countries, contracted in rude and ignorant\\nages, when nations knew but little of each\\nother, and looked beyond their own boun-\\ndaries with distrust and hostility. We, on the\\ncontrary, have sprung into national existence\\nin an enlightened and philosophic age, when\\nthe different parts of the habitable world, and\\nthe various branches of the human family,\\nhave been indefatigably studied and made\\nknown to each other: and we forego the\\nadvantages of our birth, if we do not shake off\\nthe national prejudices, as we would the local\\nsuperstitions, of the old world.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 91\\nBut above all let us not be influenced by any\\nangry feelings, so far as to shut our eyes to the\\nperception of what is really excellent and\\namiable in the English character. We are a\\nyoung people, necessarily an imitative one, and\\nmust take our examples and models, in a\\ngreat degree, from the existing nations of\\nEurope. There is no country more worthy of\\nour study than England. The spirit of her\\nconstitution is most analogous to ours. The\\nmanners of her people their intellectual\\nactivity their freedom of opinion their\\nhabits of thinking on those subjects which con-\\ncern the dearest interests and most sacred\\ncharities of private life, are all congenial to\\nthe American character; and, in fact, are all\\nintrinsically excellent: for it is in the moral\\nfeeling of the people that the deep founda-\\ntions of British prosperity are laid and how-\\never the superstructure may be time-worn, or\\noverrun by abuses, there must be something\\nsolid in the basis, admirable in the materials,\\nand stable in the structure of an edifice that so\\nlong has towered unshaken amidst the tempests\\nof the world.\\nLet it be the pride of our writers, therefore,\\ndiscarding all feelings of irritation, and dis-\\ndaining to retaliate the illiberality of British\\nauthors, to speak of the English nation with-\\nout prejudice, and with determined candor.\\nWhile they rebuke the indiscriminating bigotry\\nwith which some of our countrymen admire\\nand imitate everything English, merely\\nbecause it is English, let them frankly point", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "92 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nout what is really worthy of approbation. We\\nmay thus place England before us as a per-\\npetual volume of reference, wherein are\\nrecorded sound deductions from ages of experi-\\nence; and while we avoid the errors and\\nabsurdities which may have crept into the\\npage, we may draw thence golden maxims of\\npractical wisdom, w^herewith to strengthen and\\nto embellish our national character.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 93\\nRURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND.\\nOh friendly to the best pursuits of man.\\nFriendly co thought, to virtue and to peace,\\nDomestic life in rural pleasures past\\nCowper.\\nThe stranger who would form a correct\\nopinion of the English character, must not\\nconfine his observations to the metropolis. He\\nmust go forth into the country; he must\\nsojourn in villages and hamlets; he must visit\\ncastles, villas, farm-houses, cottages; he must\\nwander through parks and gardens; along\\nhedges and green lanes; he must loiter about\\ncountry churches attend wakes and fairs, and\\nother rural festivals and cope with the people\\nin all their conditions, and all their habits and\\nhumors.\\nIn some countries, the large cities absorb the\\nwealth and fashion of the nation they are the\\nonly fixed abodes of elegant and intelligent\\nsociety, and the country is inhabited almost\\nentirely by boorish peasantry. In England, on\\nthe contrary, the metropolis is a mere gather-\\ning-place, or general rendezvous, of the polite\\nclasses, where they devote a small portion of\\nthe year to a hurry of gayety and dissipation,\\nand, having indulged this kind of carnival,\\nreturn again to the apparently more congenial", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "94 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhabits of rural life. The various orders of\\nsociety are therefore diffused over the whole\\nsurface of the kingdom, and the more retired\\nneighborhoods afford specimens of the differ-\\nent ranks.\\nThe English, in fact, are strongly gifted\\nwith the rural feeling. They possess a quick\\nsensibility to the beauties of nature, and a\\nkeen relish for the pleasures and employ-\\nments of the country. This passion seems\\ninherent in them. Even the inhabitants of\\ncities, born and brought up among brick walls\\nand bustling streets, enter with facility into\\nrural habits, and evince a tact for rural occupa-\\ntion. The merchant has his snug retreat in the\\nvicinity of the metropolis, where he often dis-\\nplays as much pride and zeal in the cultivation\\nof his flower garden, and the maturing of his\\nfruits, as he does in the conduct of his busi-\\nness, and the success of a commercial enter-\\nprise. Even those less fortunate individuals,\\nwho are doomed to pass their lives in the\\nmidst of din and traffic, contrive to have some-\\nthing that shall remind them of the green\\naspect of nature. In the most dark and dingy\\nquarters of the city, the drawing-room-\\nwindow resembles frequently a bank of\\nflowers; every spot capable of vegetation has\\nits grass-plot and flower-bed; and every square\\nits mimic park.\\nThose who see the Englishman only in town,\\nare apt to form an unfavorable opinion of his\\nsocial character. He is either absorbed in\\nbusiness, or distracted by the thousand engage-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 95\\nments that dissipate time, thought, and feel-\\ning, in this huge metropolis. He has, there-\\nfore, too commonly, a look of hurry and\\nabstraction. Wherever he happens to be, he is\\non the point of going somewhere else; at the\\nmoment he is talking on one. subject, his mind\\nis wandering to another; and while paying a\\nfriendly visit, he is calculating how he shall\\neconomize time so as to pay the other visits\\nallotted to the morning. An immense metro-\\npolis, like London, is calculated to make men\\nselfish and uninteresting. In their casual and\\ntransient meetings, they can but deal briefly in\\ncommonplaces. They present but the cold\\nsuperfices of character its rich and genial\\nqualities have no time to be warmed into a\\nflow.\\nIt is in the country that the Englishman\\ngives scope to his natural feelings. He breaks\\nloose gladly from the cold formalities and\\nnegative civilities of town throws off his habits\\nof shy reserve, and becomes joyous and free-\\nhearted. He manages to collect round him all\\nthe conveniences and elegancies of polite life,\\nand to banish its restraints. His country-seat\\nabounds with every requisite, either for studi-\\nous retirement, tasteful gratification, or rural\\nexercise. Books, paintings, music, horses,\\ndogs, and sporting implements of all kinds, are\\nat hand. He puts no constraint, either upon\\nhis guests or himself, but, in the true spirit of\\nhospitality, provides the means of enjoyment,\\nand leaves every one to partake according to\\nhis inclination.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "96 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nThe taste of the English in the cultivation of\\nland, and in what is called landscape gardenr\\ning, is unrivaled. They have studied Nature;\\nintently, and discovered an exquisite sense of;\\nher beautiful forms and harmonious combinai^3,\\ntions. Those charms which, in other countriesr/r\\nshe lavishes in wild solitudes, are here assembled,\\nround the haunts of domestic life. They seem:\\nto have caught her coy and furtive graces, and;\\nspread them, like witchery, about their rur^l;\\nabodes.\\nNothing can be more imposing than tlie mag-\\nnificence of English park scenery. Vast lawns;\\nthat extend like sheets of vivid green, with\\nhere and there clumps of gigantic trees, heap--\\niug up rich piles of foliage. The solemn pomp\\nof groves and woodland glades, with the deer\\ntrooping in silent herds across them the hare,\\nbounding away to the covert; or the pheasant,\\nsuddenly bursting upon the wing. The brook,\\ntaught to wind in natural meanderings, or\\nexpand into a glassy lake the sequestered pool,\\nreflecting the quivering trees, with the yellowd\\nleaf sleeping on its bosom, and the trout roam-^:\\ning fearlessly about its limpid waters; while\\nsome rustic temple, or sylvan statue, growii;\\ngreen and dank with age, gives an air of classic.\\nsanctity to the seclusion.\\nThese are but a few of the features of park::\\nscenery; but what most delights me, is the.\\ncreative talent with w^hich the English decorate.,\\nthe unostentatious abodes of middle life. The(\\nrudest habitation, the most unpromising and.\\nscanty portion of land, in the hands of an Eng-r:", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 97\\nlishman of taste, becomes a little paradise.\\nWith a nicely discriminating eye, he seizes at\\nonce upon its capabilities, and pictures in his\\nmind the future landscape. The sterile spot\\ngrows into loveliness under his hand and yet\\nthe operations of art which produce the effect\\nare scarcely to be perceived. The cherishing\\nand training of some trees; the cautious prun-\\ning of others; the nice distribution of flowers\\nand plants of tender and graceful foliage; the\\n.introduction of a green slope of velvet turf;\\nthe partial opening to a peep of blue distance,\\nor silver gleam of water all these are man-\\naged with a delicate tact, a pervading yet quiet\\nassiduity, like the magic touchings with which\\na painter finishes up a favorite picture.\\nThe residence of people of fortune and refine-\\nment in the country, has diffused a degree of\\ntaste and elegance in rural economy that\\ndescends to the lowest class. The very laborer,\\nwith his thatched cottage and narrow slip of\\nground, attends to their embellishment. The\\ntrim hedge, the grass-plot before the door, the\\nlittle flower-bed bordered with snug box, the\\nwoodbine trained up against the wall, and\\nhanging its blossoms about the lattice; the pot\\nof flowers in the window; the holly, provi-\\ndently planted about the house, to cheat winter\\nof its dreariness, and to throw in a semblance\\nof green summer to cheer the fireside all\\nthese bespeak the influence of taste, flowing\\ndown from high sources, and pervading the\\nlowest levels of the public mind. If ever Love,\\n7 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "98 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nas poets sing, delights to visit a cottage, it\\nmust be the cottage of an English peasant.\\nThe fondness for rural life among the higher\\nclasses of the English has had a great and\\nsalutary effect upon the national character. I\\ndo not know a finer race of men than the Eng-\\nlish gentleman. Instead of the softness and\\neffeminacy which characterize the men of rank\\nin most countries, they exhibit a union of ele*\\ngance and strength, a robustness of fram.e and\\nfreshness of complexion, which I am inclined\\nto attribute to their living so much in\\nthe open air, and pursuing so eagerly\\nthe invigorating recreations of the country.\\nThe hardy exercises produce also a health-\\nful tone of mind and spirits, and a manli-\\nness and simplicity of manners, which even\\nthe follies and dissipations- of the town cannot\\neasily pervert, and can never entirely destroy.\\nIn the country, too, the different orders of\\nsociety seem to approach more freely, to be\\nmore disposed to blend and operate favorably\\nupon each other. The distinctions between\\nthem do not appear to be so marked and impas-\\nsable as in the cities. The manner in which\\nproperty has been distributed into small estates\\nand farms has established a regular gradation\\nfrom the noblemen, through the classes of\\ngentry, small landed proprietors, and sub-\\nstantial farmers, down to the laboring peas-\\nantry; and while it has thus banded the\\nextremes of society together, has infused into\\neach intermediate rank a spirit of independ-\\nence. This, it must be confessed, is not so", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 99\\nuniversally the case at present as it was\\nformerly; the larger estates having, in late\\nyears of distress, absorbed the smaller, and, in\\nsome parts of the country, almost annihilated\\nthe sturdy race of small farmers. These, how-\\never, I believe, are but casual breaks m the\\ngeneral system I have mentioned.\\nIn rural occupation, there is nothing mean\\nand debasing. It leads a man forth among\\nscenes of natural grandeur and beauty; it\\nleaves him to the workings of his own mind,\\noperated upon by the purest and most elevat-\\ning of external influences. Such a man may\\nbe simple and rough, but he cannot be vulgar.\\nThe man of refinement, therefore, finds noth-\\ning revolting in an intercourse with the lower\\norders in rural life, as he does when he casu-\\nally mingles with the lower orders of cities.\\nRelays aside his distance and reserve, and is\\nglad to waive the distinctions of rank, and to\\nenter into the honest, heartfelt enjoyments of\\ncommon life. Indeed, the very amusements\\nof the country bring men more and more\\ntogether; and the sound of hound and horn\\nblend all feelings into harmony. I believe\\nthis is one great reason why the nobility and\\ngentry are more popular among the inferior\\norders in England than they are in any other\\ncountry; and why the latter have endured so\\nmany excessive pressures and extremities,\\nwithout repining more generally at the unequal\\ndistribution of fortune and privilege.\\nTo this mingling of cultivated and rustic\\nsociety may also be attributed the rural feeling", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "100 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthat runs through British literature; the fre^\\nquent use of illustrations from rural life those\\nincomparable descriptions of Nature, that\\nabound in the British poets that have contin-\\nued down from The Flower and the Leaf,\\nof Chaucer, and have brought into our closets\\nall the freshness and fragrance of the dewy\\nlandscape. The pastoral writers of other coun-\\ntries appear as if they had paid Nature an occa-\\nsional visit, and become acquainted with her\\ngeneral charms; but the British poets have\\nlived and reveled with her they have wooed\\nher in her most secret haunts the have\\nwatched her minutest caprices. A spray could\\nnot tremble in the breeze a leaf could not\\nrustle to the ground a diamond drop could\\nnot patter in the stream a fragrance could\\nnot exhale from the humble violet, nor a daisy\\nunfold its crimson tints to the morning, but it\\nhas been noticed by these impassioned and del-\\nicate observers, and wrought up into some\\nbeautiful morality.\\nThe effect of this devotion of elegant minds\\nto rural occupations has been wonderful on the\\nface of the country. A great part of the island\\nis rather level, and would be monotonous,\\nw^ere it not for the charms of culture; but it is\\nstudded and gemmed, as it were, with castles\\nand palaces, and embroidered with parks and\\ngardens. It does not abound in grand and\\nsublime prospects, but rather in little home\\nscenes of rural repose and sheltered quiet.\\nEvery antique farm-house and moss-grown cot-\\ntage is a picture and as the roads are contin-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 101\\nually winding, and the view is shut in by groves\\nand hedges, the eye is delighted by a contin-\\nual succession of small landscapes of captivat-\\ning loveliness.\\nThe great charm, however, of English scen-\\nery, is the moral feeling that seems to pervade\\nit. It is associated in the mind with ideas of\\norder, of quiet, of sober well-established prin-\\nciples, of hoary usage and reverend custom.\\nEverything seems to be the growth of ages of\\nregular and peaceful existence. The old\\nchurch of remote architecture, with its low,\\nmassive portal; its Gothic tower; its windows\\nrich with tracery and painted glass, in scrupu-\\nlous preservation; its stately monuments of\\nwarriors and worthies of the olden time, ances-\\ntors of the present lords of the soil its tomb-\\nstones, recording successive generations of\\nsturdy yeomanry, whose progeny still plough\\nthe same fields, and kneel at the same altar\\nthe parsonage, a quaint irregular pile, partly\\nantiquated, but repaired and altered in the\\ntastes of various ages and occupants the stile\\nand foot-path leading from the churc]i-5^ard,\\nacross pleasant fields, and along shady hedge-\\nrows, according to an immemorial right of\\nV\\\\^ay the neighboring village, with its vener-\\nable cottages, its public green sheltered by\\ntrees, under which the forefathers of the pres-\\nent race have sported;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the antique family\\nmansion, standing apart in some little rural\\ndomain, but looking down with a protecting\\nair on the surrounding scene all these com-\\nmon features of English landscape evince a", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "i;2 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ncalm and settled security, a hereditary trans-\\nmission of homebred virtues and local attach-\\nments, that speak deeply and touchingly for\\nthe moral character of the nation.\\nIt is a pleasing- sight, of a Sunday morning,\\nwhen the bell is sending its sober melody\\nacross the quiet fields, to behold the peasantry\\nin their best finery, with ruddy faces, and mod-\\nest cheerfulness, thronging tranquilly along\\nthe green lanes to church but it is still more\\npleasing to see them in the evenings, gather-\\ning about their cottage doors, and appearing\\nto exult in the humble corriforts and embellish-\\nments which their own hands have spread\\naround them.\\nIt is this sweet home-feeling, this sett-led re-\\npose of affection in the domestic scene, that is,\\nafter all, the parent of the steadiest virtues\\nand purest enjoyments; and I cannot close\\nthese desultory remarks better, than by quot-\\ning the words of a modern English poet, who\\nhas depicted it with remarkable felicity\\nThrough each gradation, from the castled hall,\\nThe city dome, the villa crowned with shade.\\nBut chief from modest mansions numberless.\\nIn town or hamlet, shelt ring middle life.\\nDown to the cottaged vale, and. straw-roof d shed;\\nThis western isle has long been famed for scenes\\nWhere bliss domestic finds a dwelling-place\\nDomestic bliss, that, like a harmless dove,\\n(Honor and sweet endearment keeping guard,)\\nCan center in a little quiet nest\\nAll that desire would fly for through the earth\\nThat can, the world eluding, be itself\\nA world enjoyed that wants no witnesses", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 103\\nBut its own sharers, and approving Heaven\\nThat, like a flower deep hid in rocky cleft.\\nSmiles, though tis looking only at the sky.*\\n*From a poem on the death of the Princess Charlotte,\\nby the Reverend Rann Kennedy, A.M.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "104 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nTHE BROKEN HEART.\\nI never heard\\nOf any true affection, but twas nipt\\nWith care, that, like the caterpillar, eats\\nThe leaves of the spring s sweetest book, the rose.\\nMiddleton.\\nIt is a common practice with those who have\\noutlived the susceptibility of early feeling, or\\nhave been brought up in the gay heartlessness\\nof dissipated life, to laugh at all love stories,\\nand to treat the tales of romantic passion as\\nmere fictions of novelists and poets. My ob-\\nservations on human nature have induced me\\nto think otherwise. They have convinced me\\nthat, however the surface of the character may\\nbe chilled and frozen by the cares of the\\nworld, or cultivated into mere smiles by the\\narts of society, still there are dormant fires\\nlurking in the depths of the coldest bosom,\\nwhich, when once enkindled, become impet-\\nuous, and are sometimes desolating in their\\neffects. Indeed, I am a true believer in the\\nblind deity, and go to the full extent of his\\ndoctrines. Shall I confess it? I believe in\\nbroken hearts, and the possibility of dying of\\ndisappointed love I do not, however, con-\\nsider it a malady often fatal to my own sex\\nbut I firmly believe that it withers down many\\na lovely woman into an early grave.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 105\\nMan is the creature of interest and ambition.\\nHis nature leads him forth into the struggle\\nand bustle of the world. Love is but the em-\\nbellishment of his early life, or a song piped\\nin the intervals of the acts. He seeks for fame,\\nfor fortune, for space in the world s thought,\\nand dominion over his fellow- men. But a\\nwoman s whole life is a history of the affec-\\ntions. The heart is her world it is there her\\nambition strives for empire it is there her\\navarice seeks for hidden treasures. She sends\\nforth her sympathies on adventure; she em-\\nbarks her whole soul in the traffic of affection\\nand if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless for\\nit is a bankruptcy of the heart.\\nTo a man, the disappointment of love may\\noccasion some bitter pangs; it wounds some\\nfeelings of tenderness it blasts some prospects\\nof felicity; but he is an active being he may\\ndissipate his thoughts in the whirl of varied\\noccupation, or may plunge into the tide of\\npleasure; or, if the scene of disappointment\\nbe too full of painful associations, he can shift\\nhis abode at will, and taking, as it were, the\\nwings of the morning, can fly to the utter-\\nmost parts of the earth, and be at rest.\\nBut woman s is comparatively a fixed, a se-\\ncltided, and meditative life. She is more the\\ncompanion of her own thoughts and feelings;\\nand if they are turned to ministers of sorrow,\\nwhere shall she look for consolation? Her lot\\nis to be wooed and won and if unhappy in her\\nlove, her heart is like some fortress that has\\n8 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "106 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nbeen captured, and sacked, and abandoned,\\nand left desolate.\\nHow many bright eyes grow dim how\\nmany soft cheeks grow pale how many lovely\\nforms fade away into the tomb, and none can\\ntell the cause that blighted their loveliness\\nAs the dove will clasp its wings to its side, and\\ncover and conceal the arrow that is preying on\\nits vitals so is it the nature of woman to hide\\nfrom the world the pangs of wounded affec-\\ntion. The love of a delicate female is always\\nshy and silent. Even when fortunate, she\\nscarcely breathes it to herself but when other-\\nwise, she buries it in the recesses of her bosom,\\nand there lets it cower and brood among the\\nruins of her peace. With her, the desire of her\\nheart has failed\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the great charm of existence\\nis at an end. She neglects all the cheerful ex-\\nercises which gladden the spirits, quicken the\\npulses, and send the tide of life in healthful\\ncurrents through the veins. Her rest is broken\\nthe sweet refreshment of sleep is poisoned\\nby melancholy dreams dry sorrow drinks\\nher blood, until her enfeebled frame sinks\\nunder the slightest external injury. Look for\\nher, after a little while, and you find friend-\\nship weeping over her untimely grave, and\\nwondering that one, who but lately glowed\\nwith all the radiance of health and beauty,\\nshould so speedily be brought down to dark-\\nness and the worm. You will be told of some\\nwintry chill, some casual indisposition, that\\nlaid her low but no one knows of the mental", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 107\\nmalady which previously sapped her strength,\\nand made her so easy a prey to the spoiler.\\nShe is like some tender tree, the pride and\\nbeauty of the grove; graceful in its form,\\nbright in its foliage, but with the worm prey-\\ning at its heart. We find it suddenly wither-\\ning, when it should be most fresh and luxuri-\\nant. We see it drooping its branches to the\\nearth, and shedding leaf by leaf, until, wasted\\nand perished away, it falls even in the stillness\\nof the forest and as we muse over the beauti-\\nful ruin, we strive in vain to recollect the blast\\nor thunderbolt that could have smitten it with\\ndecay,\\nI have seen many instances of women run-\\nning to waste and self-neglect, and disappear-\\ning gradually from the earth, almost as if they\\nhad been exhaled to heaven and have repeat-\\nedly fancied that I could trace their deaths\\nthrough the various declensions of consump-\\ntion, cold, debility, languor, melancholy, until\\nI reached the first symptom of disappointed\\nlove. But an instance of the kind was lately\\ntold to me the circumstances are well known\\nin the country where they happened, and I\\nshall but give them in the manner in which\\nthey were related.\\nEvery one must recollect the tragical story\\nof young E the Irish patriot; it was too\\ntouching to be soon forgotten. During the\\ntroubles in Ireland, he was tried, condemned,\\nand executed, on a charge of treason. His\\nfate made a deep impression on public sympa-\\nthy. He was so young\u00e2\u0080\u0094 so intelligent so gen-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "108 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nerous so brave so everything that we are apt\\nto like in a young man. His conduct under\\ntrial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. The\\nnoble indignation with which he rebelled the\\ncharge of treason against his country the\\neloquent vindication of his name\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and his pa-\\nthetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour\\nof condemnation, all these entered deeply\\ninto every generous bosom, and even his ene-\\nmies lamented the stern policy that dictated\\nhis execution.\\nBut there was one heart whose anguish it\\nwould be impossible to describe. In happier\\ndays and fairer fortunes, he had won the affec-\\ntions of a beautiful and interesting girl, the\\ndaughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister.\\nShe loved him with the disinterested fervor of\\na woman s first and early love. When every\\nworldly maxim arrayed itself against him when\\nblasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger\\ndarkened around his name, she loved him the\\nmore ardently for his very sufferings. If,\\nthen, his fate could awaken the sympathy even\\nof his foes, what must have been the agony of\\nher, whose whole soul was occupied by his im-\\nage? Let those tell who have had the portals\\nof the tomb suddenly closed between them and\\nthe being they most loved on earth who have\\nsat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold\\nand lonely world, whence all that was most\\nlovely and loving had departed.\\nBut then the horrors of such a grave so\\nfrightful, so dishonored! There was nothing\\nfor memory to dwell on that could soothe the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 109\\npang of separation none of those tender,\\nthough melancholy circumstances which en-\\ndear the parting scene nothing to melt sorrow\\ninto those blessed tears, sent like the dews of\\nheaven, to revive the heart in the pa;rting hour\\nof anguish.\\nTo render her widowed situation more deso-\\nlate, she had incurred her father s displeasure\\nby her unfortunate attachment, and was an\\nexile from the parental roof. But could the\\nsympathy and kind offices of friends have\\nreached a spirit so shocked and driven in by\\nhorror, she would have experienced no want\\nof consolation, for the Irish are a people of\\nquick and generous sensibilities. The most\\ndelicate and cherishing attentions were paid\\nher by families of wealth and distinction. She\\nwas led into society, and they tried by all kinds\\nof occupation and amusement to dissipate her\\ngrief, and wean her from the tragical story of\\nher loves. But it was all in vain. There are\\nsome strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch\\nthe soul which penetrate to the vital seat of\\nhappiness and blast it, never again to put\\nforth bud or blossom. She never objected to\\nfrequent the haunts of pleasure, but was as\\nmuch alone there as in the depths of solitude\\nwalking about in a sad revery, apparently un-\\nconscious of the world around her. She carried\\nwith her an inward woe that mocked at al^the\\nblandishments of friendship, and heeded not\\nthe song of the charmer, charm he never so\\nwisely.\\nThe person who told me her story had seen", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "110 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nher at a masquerade. There can be no exhibi-\\ntion of far-gone wretchedness more striking and\\npainful than to meet it in such a scene. To\\nfind it wandering like a spectre, lonely and\\njoyless, where all around is gay to see it\\ndressed out in the trappings of mirth, and look-\\ning so wan and woe-begone, as if it had tried in\\nvain to cheat the poor heart into momentary\\nforgetfulness of sorrow. After strolling\\nthrough the splendid rooms and giddy crowd\\nwith an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself\\ndown on the steps of an orchestra, and, looking\\nabout for some time with a vacant air, that\\nshowed her insensibility to the garish scene,\\nshe began, with the capricioasness of a sickly\\nheart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had\\nan exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was\\nso simple, so touching, it breathed forth such\\na soul of wretchedness that she drew a crowd,\\nmute and silent, around her and melted every\\none into tears.\\nThe story of one so true and tender could not\\nbut excite great interest in a country remark-\\nable for enthusiasm. It completely won the\\nheart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses\\nto her, and thought that one so true to the\\ndead, could not but prove affectionate to the\\nliving. She declined his attentions, for her\\nthoughts were irrevocably engrossed by the\\nmemory of her former lover. He, however,\\npersisted in his suit. He solicited not her ten-\\nderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by\\nher conviction of his worth, and her sense of\\nher own destitute and dependent situation, for", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. Ill\\nshe was existing on the kindness of friends.\\nIn a word, he at length succeeded in gaining\\nher hand, though with the solemn assurance,\\nthat her heart was unalterably another s.\\nHe took her with him to Sicily, hoping that\\na change of scene might wear out the remem-\\nbrance of early woes. She was an amiable\\nand exemplary wife, and made an efiEort to be\\na happy one but nothing could cure the silent\\nand devouring melancholy that had entered\\ninto her very soul. She wasted away in a\\nslow, but hopeless decline, and at length sunk\\ninto the grave, the victim of a broken heart.\\nIt was on her that Moore, the distinguished\\nIrish poet, composed the following lines\\nShe is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,\\nAnd lovers around her are sighing:\\nYet ^coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,\\nFor her heart in his grave is lying.\\nShe sings the wild song of her dear native plains,\\nEvery note which he loved awakening\\nAh little they think, who delight in her strains,\\nHow the heart of the minstrel is breaking\\nHe had lived for his love\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for his country he died,\\nThey were all that to life had entwined him\\nNor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,\\nNor long will his love stay behind him\\nOh make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,\\nWhen they promise a glorious morrow\\nThey ll shine o er her sleep, like a smile from the west,\\nFrom her own loved island of sorrow", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "112 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nTHE ART OF BOOK-MAKING.\\nif that severe doom of Synesius be true, It is a\\ngreater offence to steal dead men s labor, than their\\nclothes, what shall become of most writers?\\nBurton s Anatomy of Melancholy.\\nI have often wondered at the extreme fecund-\\nity of the press, and how it comes to pass that\\nso many heads, on which Nature seems to have\\ninflicted the curse of barrenness, should teem\\nwith voluminous productions. As a man\\ntravels on, however, in the journey of life, his\\nobjects of wonder daily diminish, and he is\\ncontinually finding out some very simple cause\\nfor some great matter of marvel. Thus have\\nI chanced, in my peregrinations about this\\ngreat metropolis, to blunder upon a scene\\nwhich unfolded to me some of the mysteries of\\nthe book-making craft, and at once put an end\\nto my astonishment.\\nI was one summer s day loitering through\\nthe great saloons of the British Museum, with,\\nthat listlessness with which one is apt to saun-\\nter about a museum in warm weather; some-\\ntimes lolling over the glass cases of minerals,\\nsometimes studying the hieroglyphics on an\\nEgyptian mummy, and sometimes trying, with\\nnearly equal success, to comprehend the alle-\\ngorical paintings on the lofty ceilings. Whilst\\nI was gazing about in this idle way, my atten-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 113\\ntion was attracted to a distant door, at the end\\nof a suite of apartments. It was closed, but\\nevery now and then it would open, and some\\nstrange-favored being, generally clothed in\\nblack, would steal forth, and glide through the\\nrooms, without noticing any of the surrounding\\nobjects. There was an air of mystery about\\nthis that piqued my languid curiosity, and I\\ndetermined to attempt the passage of that\\nstrait, and to explore the unknown regions\\nbeyond. The door yielded to my hand, with\\nall that facility with which the portals of\\nenchanted castles yield to the adventurous\\nknight-errant. I found myself in a spacious\\nchamber, surrounded with great cases of ven-\\nerable books. Above the cases, and just under\\nthe cornice, were arranged a great number of\\nblack-looking portraits of ancient authors.\\nAbout the room were placed long tables, with\\nstands for reading and wTiting, at which sat\\nmany pale, studious personages, poring intently\\nover dusty volumes, rumaging among mouldy\\nmanuscripts, and taking copious notes of their\\ncontents. A hushed stillness reigned through\\nthis mysterious apartment, excepting that you\\nmight hear the racing of pens over sheets of\\npaper, and occasionally the deep sigh of one of\\nthese sages, as he shifted his position to turn\\nover the page of an old folio; doubtless arising\\nfrom that hollowness and flatulency incident to\\nlearned research.\\nNow and then one of these personages\\nwould write something on a small slip of paper,\\nand ring a bell, whereupon a familiar would", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "114 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nappear, take the paper in profound silence,\\nglide out of the room, and return shortly-\\nloaded with ponderous tomes, upon which the\\nother would fall, tooth and nail, with famished\\nvoracity. I had no longer a doubt that I had\\nhappened upon a body of magi, deeply engaged\\nin the study of occult sciences. The scene\\nreminded me of an old Arabian tale, of a phi-\\nlosopher shut up in an enchanted library, in the\\nbosom of a mountain, which opened only once\\na year where he made the spirits of the place\\nbring him books of all kinds of dark knowledge\\nso that at the end of the year, when the magic\\nportal once more swung open on its hinges, he\\nissued forth so versed in forbidden lore, as to\\nbe able to soar above the heads of the multi-\\ntude, and to control the powers of Nature.\\nMy curiosity being now fully aroused, I whis-\\npered to one of the familiars, as he was about\\nto leave the room, and begged an interpreta-\\ntion of the strange scene before me. A few\\nwords were sufficient for the purpose. I found\\nthat these mysterious personages, whom I had\\nmistaken for magi, were principally authors,\\nand were in the very act of manufacturing\\nbooks. I was, in fact, in the reading-room of\\nthe great British Library, an immense collec-\\ntion of volumes of all ages and languages,\\nmany of which are now forgotten, and most of\\nwhich are seldom read: one of these seques-\\ntered pools of obsolete literature to which mod-\\nern authors repair, and draw buckets full of\\nclassic lore, or pure English undefiled,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 115\\nwherewith to swell their own scanty rills of\\nthought.\\nBeing now in possession of the secret, I sat\\ndown in a corner, and watched the process of\\nthis book manufactory. I noticed one lean,\\nbilious-looking wight, who sought none but the\\nmost worm-eaten volumes, printed in black\\nletter. He was evidently constructing some\\nwork of profound erudition, that would be pur-\\nchased by every man who wished to be thought\\nlearned, placed upon a conspicuous shelf of his\\nlibrary, or laid open upon his table but never\\nread. I observed him, now and then, draw a\\nlarge fragment of biscuit out of his pocket, and\\ngnaw whether it was his dinner, or whether\\nhe was endeavoring to keep off that exhaustion\\nof the stomach, produced by much pondering\\nover dry works, I leave to harder students than\\nmyself to determine.\\nThere was one dapper little gentleman in\\nbright-colored clothes, with a chirping, gossip-\\ning expression of countenance, who had all the\\nappearance of an author on good terms with\\nhis bookseller. After considering him atten-\\ntively, I recognized in him a diligent getter-up\\nof miscellaneous works, which bustled off well\\nwith the trade. I was curious to see how he\\nmanufactured his wares. He made more stir\\nand show of business than any of the others\\ndipping into various books, fluttering over the\\nleaves of manuscripts, taking a morsel out of\\none, a morsel out of another, line upon line,\\nprecept upon precept, here a little and there a\\nlittle. The contents of his book seemed to", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "116 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nbe as heterogeneous as those of the witches\\ncauldron in Macbeth. It was here a finger and\\nthere a thumb, toe of frog and blind worm s\\nsting, with his own gossip poured in like\\nbaboon s blood, to make the medley slab\\nand good.\\nAfter all, thought I, may not this pilfering\\ndisposition be implanted in authors for wise\\npurposes? may it not be the way in which\\nProvidence has taken care that the seeds of\\nknowledge and wisdom shall be preserved from\\nage to age, in spite of the inevitable decay of\\nthe works in which they were first produced?\\nWe see that Nature has wisely, though whim-\\nsically provided for the conveyance of seeds\\nfrom clime to clime, in the maws of certain\\nbirds; so that animals, which, in themselves,\\nare little better than carrion, and apparently\\nthe lawless plunderers of the orchard and the\\ncorn-field, are, in fact. Nature s carriers to dis-\\nperse and perpetuate her blessings. In like\\nmanner, the beauties and fine thoughts of\\nancient and obsolete authors are caught up by\\nthese flights of predatory writers, and cast\\nforth, again to flourish and bear fruit in a\\nremote and distant tract of time. Many of\\ntheir works, also, undergo a kind of metempsy-\\nchosis, and spring up under new forms. What\\nvv^as formerly a ponderous history, revives in\\nthe shape of a romance an old legend changes\\ninto a modern play and a sober philosophical\\ntreatise furnishes the body for a whole series\\nof bouncing and sparkling essays. Thus it is\\nin the clearing of our American woodlands-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 117\\nwhere we burn down a forest of stately pines,\\na progeny of dwarf oaks start up in their place\\nand we never see the prostrate trunk of a tree\\nmouldering into soil, but it gives birth to a\\nwhole tribe of fungi.\\nLet us not then, lament over the decay and\\noblivion into which ancient writers descend;\\nthey do not submit to the great law of Nature,\\nwhich declares that all sublunary shapes of\\nmatter shall be limited in their duration, but\\nwhich decrees, also, that their element shall\\nnever perish. Generation after generation,\\nboth in animal and vegetable life, passes away,\\nbut the vital principle is transmitted to poster-\\nity, and the species continue to flourish.\\nThus, also, do authors beget authors, and hav-\\ning produced a numerous progeny, in a good\\nold age they sleep with their fathers, that is to\\nsay, with the authors who preceded them\\nand from whom they had stolen.\\nWhilst I was indulging in these rambling\\nfancies I had leaned m) head against a pile of\\nreverend folios. Whether it was owing to the\\nsoporific emanations for these works; or to the\\nprofound quiet of the room or to the lassitude\\narising from much wandering; or to an\\nunlucky habit of napping at improper times\\nand places, with which I am grievously afflicted,\\nso it was, that I fell into a doze. Still, how-\\never, my imagination continued busy, and\\nindeed the same scene continued before my\\nmind s eye, only a little changed in some of\\nthe details. I dreamt that the chamber was\\nstill decorated with the portraits of ancient", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "118 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nauthors, but that the number was increased.\\nThe long tables had disappeared, and, in place\\nof the sage magi, I beheld a ragged, thread-\\nbare throng, such as may be seen plying about\\nthe great repository of cast-off clothes, Mon-\\nmouth Street. Whenever they seized upon a\\nbook, by one of those incongruities common to\\ndreams, methought it turned into a garment\\nof foreign or antique fashion, with which they\\nproceeded to equip themselves. I noticed,\\nhowever, that no one pretended to clothe him-\\nself from any particular suit, but took a sleeve\\nfrom one, a cape from another, a skirt from a\\nthird, thus decking himself out piecemeal,\\nwhile some of his original rags would peep out\\nfrom among his borrowed finery.\\nThere was a portly, rosy, well-fed parson,\\nwhom I observed ogling several mouldy polem-\\nical writers through an eyeglass. He soon\\ncontrived to slip on the voluminous mantle of\\none of the old fathers, and having purloined\\nthe gray beard of another, endeavored to look\\nexceedingly wise but the smirking common-\\nplace of his countenance set at naught all the\\ntrappings of wisdom. One sickly-looking gen-\\ntleman was busied embroidering a very flimsy\\ngarment with gold thread drawn out of several\\nold court-dresses of the reign of Queen Eliza-\\nbeth. Another had trimmed himself magnifi-\\ncently from an illuminated manuscript, had\\nstuck a nosegay in his bosom, culled from\\n**The Paradise of Dainty Devices, and having\\nput Sir Philip Sidney s hat on one side of his\\nhead, strutted off with an exquisite air of vul-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 119\\ngar elegance. A third, who was but of puny\\ndimensions, had bolstered himself out bravely\\nwith the spoils from several obscure tracts of\\nphilosophy, so that he had a very imposing\\nfront, but he was lamentably tattered in rear,\\nand I perceived that he had patched his small-\\nclothes with scraps of parchment from a Latin\\nauthor.\\nThere were some well-dressed gentlemen, it\\nis true, who only helped themselves to a gem\\nor so, which sparkled among their own orna-\\nments, without eclipsing them. Some, too,\\nseemed to contemplate the costumes of the old\\nwriters, merely to imbibe their principles of\\ntaste, and to catch their air and spirit but I\\ngrieve to say, that too many were apt to array\\nthemselves, from top to toe, in the patchwork\\nmanner I have mentioned. I shall not omit\\nto speak of one genius, in drab breeches and\\ngaiters, and an Arcadian hat, who had a vio-\\nlent propensity to the pastoral, but whose rural\\nwanderings had been confined to the classic\\nhaunts of Primrose Hill, and the soltitudes of\\nthe Regent s Park. He had decked himself\\nin wreaths and ribbons from all the old pasto-\\nral poets, and, hanging his head on one side,\\nwent about with a fantastical, lack-a-daisical\\nair, babbling about green fields. But the\\npersonage that most struck my attention was a\\npragmatical old gentleman in clerical robes,\\nwith a remarkably large and square but bald\\nhead. He entered the room wheezing and\\npuffing, elbowed his wa}^ through the throng\\nwith a look of sturdy self-confidence, and,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "120 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhaving laid hands upon a thick Greek quarto,\\nclapped it upon his head, and swept majesti.\\ncally away in a formidable frizzled wig.\\nIn the height of this literary masquerade, a\\ncry suddenly resounded from every side, of\\nThieves! thieves! I looked, and lo! the\\nportraits about the walls became animated!\\nThe old authors thrust out, first a head, then\\na shoulder, from the canvas, looked down curi-\\nously for an instant upon the motley throng,\\nand then descended, with fury in their eyes, to\\nclaim their rifled property. The scene of\\nscampering and hubbub that ensued baffles all\\ndescription. The unhappy culprits endeavored\\nin vain to escape with their plunder. On one\\nside might be seen half a dozen old monks,\\nstripping a modern professor on another, there\\nwas sad devastation carried into the ranks of\\nmodern dramatic writers. Beaumont and\\nFletcher, side by side, raged round the field\\nlike Castor and Pollux, and sturdy Ben Jonson\\nenacted more wonders than when a volunteer\\nwith the army in Flanders. As to the dapper\\nlittle compiler of farragos mentioned some\\ntime since, he had arrayed himself in as many\\npatches and colors as harlequin, and there was\\nas fierce a contention of claimants about him,\\nas about the dead body of Patroclus. I was\\ngrieved to see many men, to whom I had been\\naccustomed to look up with awe and reverence,\\nfain to steal off with scarce a rag to cover their\\nnakedness. Just then my eye was caught by\\nthe pragmatical old gentleman in the Greek\\ngrizzled wig, who was scrambling away in sor", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 121\\naffright with half a score of authors in full cry\\nafter him. They were close upon his haunches;\\nin a twinkling off went his wig at every turn\\nsome strip of raiment was peeled away, until in\\na few moments, from his domineering pomp,\\nhe shrunk into a little, pursy, *chopp d bald\\nshot, and made his exit with only a few tags\\nand rags fluttering at his back.\\nThere was something so ludicrous in the ca-\\ntastrophe of this learned Theban that I burst\\ninto an immoderate fit of laughter, which\\nbroke the whole illusion. The tumult and the\\nscufBe were at an end. The chamber resumed\\nits usual appearance. The old authors shrunk\\nback into their picture- frames, and hung in\\nshadowy solemnity along the walls. In short,\\nI found myself wide awake in my corner, with\\nthe whole assemblage of bookworms gazing at\\nme with astonishment. Nothing of the dream\\nhad been real but my burst of laughter, a sound\\nnever before heard in that grave sanctuary,\\nand so abhorrent to the ears of wisdom, as to\\nelectrify the fraternity.\\nThe librarian now stepped up to me and\\ndemanded whether I had a card of admission;\\nAt first I did not comprehend him, but I soon\\nfound that the library was a kind of literary\\n^^preserve, subject to game-laws, and that no\\none must presume to hunt there without spe-\\ncial license and permission. In a word, I stood\\nconvicted of being an arrant poacher, and was\\nglad to make a precipitate retreat, lest I should\\nhave a whole pack of authors let loose upon", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "122 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nA ROYAL POET.\\nThough your body be confined\\nAnd soft love a prisoner bound,\\nYet the beauty of your mind\\nNei|;her check nor chain hath found.\\nLook out nobly, then, and dare\\nEven the fetters that you wear.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Fletcher.\\n4 On a soft sunny morning in the genial\\nmonth of May I made an excursion to Windsor\\nCastle. It is a place full of storied and poeti-\\ncal associations. The very external aspect of\\nthe proud old pile is enough to inspire high\\nthought. It rears its irregular walls and mas-\\nsive towers, like a mural crown around the\\nbrow of a lofty ridge, waves its royal banner\\nin the clouds, and looks down with a lordly air\\nupon the surrounding world.\\nOn this morning, the weather was of that\\nvoluptuous vernal kind which calls forth all the\\nlatent romance of a man s temperament, filling\\nhis mind with music, and disposing him to\\nquote poetry and dream of beauty. In wan-\\ndering through the magnificent saloons and\\nlong echoing galleries of the castle, I passed\\nwith indifference by whole rows of portraits of\\nwarriors and statesmen, but lingered in the\\nchamber where hang the likenesses of the\\nbeauties which graced the gay court of Charles", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 123\\nthe Second; and as I gazed upon them, de-\\npicted with amorous, half-disheveled tresses,\\nand the sleepy eye of love, I blessed the pen-\\ncil of Sir Peter Lely, which had thus enabled\\nme to bask in the reflected rays of beauty. In\\ntraversing also the large green courts, with\\nsunshine beaming on the gray walls and glanc-\\ning along the velvet turf, my mind was en-\\ngrossed with the image of the tender, the gal-\\nlant, but hapless Surrey, and his account of his\\nloiterings about them in his stripling days,\\nwhen enamoured of the Lady Geraldine\\nWith eyes cast up unto the maiden s tower,\\nWith easie sighs, such as men draw in love.\\nin this mood of mere poetical susceptibility, I\\nvisited the ancient keep of the castle, where\\nJames the First of Scotland, the pride and\\ntheme of Scottish poets and historians, was for\\nmany years of his youth detained a prisoner of\\nstate. It is a large gray tower, that has stood\\nthe brunt of ages, and is still in good preserva-\\ntion. It stands on a mound which elevates it\\nabove the other parts of the castle, and a\\ngreat flight of steps leads to the interior. In\\nthe armory, a Gothic hall furnished with wea-\\npons of various kinds and ages, I was shown a\\ncoat of armor hanging against the wall, which\\nhad once belonged to James. Hence I was\\nconducted up a staircase to a suite of apart-\\nments, of faded magnificence, hung with stor-\\nied tapestry, which formed his prison, and the\\nscene of that passionate and fanciful armor,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "124 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwhich has woven into the web of his story the\\nmagical hues of poetry and fiction.\\nThe whole history of this amiable but unfor-\\ntunate prince is highly romantic. At the ten-\\nder age of eleven, he was sent from home by\\nhis father, Robert III., and destined for the\\nFrench court, to be reared under the eye of\\nthe French monarch, secure from the treachery\\nand danger that surrounded the royal house of\\nScotland. It was his mishap, in the course of\\nhis voyage, to fall into the hands of the Eng-\\nlish, and he was detained prisoner by Henry\\nIV., notwithstanding that a truce existed be-\\ntween the two countries.\\nThe intelligence of his capture, coming in the\\ntrain of many sorrows and disasters, proved\\nfatal to his unhappy father. The news, we\\nare told, was brought to him while at supper,\\nand did so overwhelm him with grief that he\\nwas almost ready to give up the ghost into the\\nhands of the servants that attended him. But\\nbeing carried to his bed-chamber, he abstained\\nfrom all food, and in three days died of hunger\\nand grief at Rothsay.\\nJames was detained in captivity above eight-\\neen years but, though deprived of personal\\nliberty, he was treated with the respect due to\\nhis rank. Care was taken to instruct him in\\nall the branches of useful knowledge cultivated\\nat that period, and to give him those mental\\nand personal accomplishments deemed proper\\nfor a prince. Perhaps in this respect his irn-\\n*Buchanan.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 125\\nprisonment was an advantage, as it etiabled\\nhim to apply himself the more exclusively to\\nhis improvement, and quietly to imbibe that\\nrich fund of knowledge and to cherish those\\nelegant tastes which have given such a lustre\\nto his memory. The picture drawn of him in\\nearly life by the Scottish historians is highly\\ncaptivating, and seems rather the description\\nof a hero of romance than of a character in real\\nhistory. He was well learnt, we are told, to\\nfight with the sword, to joust, to tourney, to\\nwrestle, to sing and dance he was an expert\\nmediciner, right crafty in playing both of lute\\nand harp, and sundry other instruments of\\nmusic, and was expert in grammar, oratory,\\nand poetry.\\nWith this combination of manly and delicate\\naccomplishments, fitting him to shine both in\\nactive and elegant life, and calculated to give\\nhim an intense relish for joyous existence, it\\nmust have been a severe trial, in an age of\\nbustle and chivalry, to pass the spring-time of\\nhis years in monotonous captivity. It was the\\ngood fortune of James, however, to be gifted\\nwith a powerful poetic fancy, and to be visited\\nin his prison, by the choicest inspirations of\\nthe muse. Some minds corrode, and grow in-\\nactive, under the loss of personal liberty;\\nothers grow morbid and irritable but it is the\\nnature of the poet to become tender and im-\\naginative in the loneliness of confinement. He\\nbanquets upon the honey of his own thoughts,\\n*Ballenden s translation of Hector Boyce.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "126 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nand, like the captive bird, pours forth his soul\\nin melody.\\nHave you not seen the nightingale,\\nA pilgrim coop d into a cage.\\nHow doth she chant her wonted tale,\\nIn that her lonely hermitage\\nEven there her charming melody doth prove\\nThat all her boughs are trees, her cage a grove.*\\nIndeed, it is the divine attribute of the im-\\nagination, that it is irrepressible, unconfinable\\nthat when the real world is shut out, it can\\ncreate a world for itself, and, with a necroman-\\ntic power, can conjure up glorious shapes and\\nforms iand brilliant visions, to make solitude\\npopulous, and irradiate the gloom of the dun-\\ngeon. Such was the world of pomp and pa-\\ngeant that lived round Tasso in his dismal cell\\nat Ferrara, when he conceived the splendid\\nscenes of his Jerusalem and we may consider\\nThe King s Quair, f composed by James\\nduring his captivity at Windsor, as another of\\nthose beautiful breakings forth of the soul\\nfrom the restraint and gloom of the prison-\\nhouse.\\nThe subject of the poem is his love for the\\nlady Jane Beaufort, daughter of the Earl of\\nSomerset, and a princess of the blood-royal of\\nEngland, of whom he became enamoured in\\nthe course of his captivity. What gives it a\\npeculiar value, is, that it may be considered a\\ntranscript of the royal bard s true feelings,\\n*Roger L Estrange.\\nf Quair, an old term for book.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 127\\nand the story of his real loves and fortunes.\\nIt is not often that sovereigns write poetry or\\nthat poets deal in fact. It is gratifying to the\\npride of a common man, to find a monarch\\nthus suing, as it were, for admission into his\\ncloset, and seeking to win his favor by admin-\\nistering to his pleasures. It is a proof of the\\nhonest equality of intellectual competition,\\nwhich strips off air the trappings of factitious\\ndignity, brings the candidate down to a level\\nwith his fellow-men, and obliges him to depend\\non his own native powers for distinction. It is\\ncurious, too, to get at the history of a mon-\\narch s heart, and to find the simple affections\\nof human nature throbbing under the ermine.\\nBut James had learnt to be a poet before he was\\na king; he was schooled in adversity, and reared\\nin the company of his own thoughts. Mon-\\narchs have seldom time to parley with their\\nhearts or to meditate their minds into poetry\\nand had James been brought up amidst the\\nadulation and gayety of a court, we should\\nnever, in all probability, have had such a poem\\nas the Quair.\\nI have been particularly interested by those\\nparts of the poem which breathe his immediate\\nthoughts concerning his situation, or which\\nare connected with the apartment in the\\nTower. They have thus a personal and local\\ncharm, and are given with such circumstantial\\ntruth as to make the reader present with the\\ncaptive in his prison and the companion of h S\\nmeditations.\\nSuch is the account which he gives of his", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "128 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nweariness of spirit, and of the incident which\\nfirst suggested the idea of writing the poem.\\nIt was the still mid-watch of a clear moonlight\\nnight; the stars, he says, were twinkling as\\nfire in the high vault of heaven, and Cynthia\\nrinsing her golden locks in Aquarius, He lay\\nin bed wakeful and restless, and took a book to\\nbeguile the tedious hours. The book he chose\\nwas Boetius Consolations of Philosophy, a\\nwork popular among the writers of that day,\\nand which had been translated by his great\\nprototype, Chaucer. From the high eulogium\\nin which he indulges, it is evident this was one\\nof his favorite volumes while in prison; and,\\nindeed, it is an admirable text-book for medi-\\ntation tinder adversity. It is the legacy of a\\nnoble and enduring spirit, purified by sorrow\\nand suffering, bequeathing to its successors in\\ncalamity the maxims of sweet morality, and\\nthe trains of eloquent but simple reasoning,\\nby which it was enabled to bear tip against the\\nvarious ills of life. It is a talisman, which the\\nunfortunate may treasure up in his bosom, or,\\nlike the good King James, lay upon his nightly\\npillow.\\nAfter closing the volume he turns its con-\\ntents over in his mind, and gradually falls into\\na fit of musing on the fickleness of fortune,\\nthe vicissitudes of his own life, and the evils\\nthat had overtaken him even in his tender\\nyouth. Suddenly he hears the bell ringing to\\nmatins, but its sound, chiming in v/ith his mel-\\nancholy fancies, seems to him like a voice ex-\\nhorting him to write his story. In the spirit", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "Joseph Jefferson as Rip Van Winkle.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Page 52.\\nSketch Book.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 129\\nof poetic errantry he determines to comply\\nwith this intimation he, therefore, takes pen\\nin hand, makes with it a sign of the cross to\\nimplore a benediction, and sallies forth into\\nthe fairy-land of poetry. There is something\\nextremely fanciful in all this, and it is iMer-\\nesting as furnishing a striking and beautiful\\ninstance of the simple manner in which whole\\ntrains of poetical thought are sometimes\\nawakened and literary enterprises suggested\\nto the mind.\\nIn the course of his poem, he more than\\nonce bewails the peculiar hardness of his fate,\\nthus doomed to lonely and inactive life, and\\nshut up from the freedom and pleasure of the\\nworld in which the meanest animal indulges\\nunrestrained. There is a sweetness, however,\\nin his very complaints; they are the lamenta-\\ntions of an amiable and social spirit at being\\ndenied the indulgence of its kind and gener-\\nous propensities there is nothing in them\\nharsh nor exaggerated; they flow with a nat-\\nural and touching pathos, and are perhaps ren-\\ndered more touching by their simple brevity.\\nThey contrast finely with those elaborate and\\niterated repinings which we sometimes meet\\nwith in poetry, the effusions of morbid minds\\nsickening under miseries of their own creating,\\nand venting their bitterness upon an unoffend-\\ning world. James speaks of his privations\\nwith acute sensibility, but having mentioned\\nthem passes on, as if his manly mind disdained\\nto brood over unavoidable calamities. When\\nsuch a spirit breaks forth into complaint, how-\\n9 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "130 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\never brief, we are aware how great must be\\nthe suffering that extorts the murmur. We\\nsympathize with James, a romantic, active,\\nand accomplished prince, cut off in the lusti-\\nhood of youth from all the enterprise, the no-\\nble uses, and vigorous delights of life, as we do\\nwith Milton, alive to all the beauties of nature\\nand glories of art, when he breathes forth brief\\nbut deep-toned lamentations over his perpetual\\nblindness.\\nHad not James evinced a deficiency of poetic\\nartifice, we might almost have suspected that\\nthese lowerings of gloomy reflections were\\nmeant as preparative to the brightest scene of\\nhis story, and to contrast with that refulgence\\nof light and loveliness, that exhilarating ac-\\ncompaniment of bird and song, and foliage\\nand flower, and all the revel of the year, with\\nwhich he ushers in the lady of his heart. It is\\nthis scene, in particular, which throws all the\\nmagic of romance about the old castle keep.\\nHe had risen, he says, at daybreak, according\\nto custom, to escape from the dreary medita-\\ntions of a sleepless pillow. Bewailing in his\\nchamber thus alone, despairing of all joy and\\nremedy, for, tired of thought, and woe-be-\\ngone, he had wandered to the window to in-\\ndulge the captive s miserable solace, of gazing\\nwistfully upon the world from which he is ex-\\ncluded. The window looked forth upon a\\nsmall garden which lay at the foot of the\\ntower. It was a quiet, sheltered spot, adorned\\nwith arbors and green alleys, and protected", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 131\\nfrom the passing gaze by trees and hawthorn\\nhedges.\\nNow was there made fast by the tower s wall,\\nA jsrarden faire, and in the corners set\\nAn arbour green with wandis long and small\\nRailed about, and so with leaves beset\\nWas all the place and hawthorn hedges knet,\\nThat lyf was none, walkyng there f orbye\\nThat might within scarce any wight espye.\\nSo thick the branches and the leves grene,\\nBeshaded all the alleys that there were,\\nAnd midst of every arbour might be seen,\\nThe sharpe, grene, swete juniper.\\nGrowing so fair with branches here and there.\\nThat as it seemed to a lyf without.\\nThe boughs did spread the arbour all about\\nAnd on the small grene twistis f set\\nThe lytel swete nightingales, and sung\\nSo loud and clear, the hymnis consecrate\\nOf lovis use, now soft, now loud among.\\nThat all the garden and the wallis rung\\nRight of their song-\\nIt was the month of May, when everything\\nwas in bloom, and he interprets the song of\\nthe nightingale into the language of his enam-\\nored feeling:\\nWorship, all ye that lovers be, this May\\nFor of your bliss the kalends are begun,\\nAnd sing with us, Away, winter, away,\\nCome, summer, come, the sweet season and sun.\\nAs he gazes on the scene, and listens to the\\nnotes of the birds, he gradually relapses into\\none of those tender and undefinable reveries,\\nLyf, person. f Twistis, small boughs or twigs.\\nNote. The language of the quotations is generally\\nmodernized.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "132 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwhich Jill the youthful bosom in this delicious\\nseason. He wonders what this love may be\\nof which he has so often read, and which thus\\nseems breathed forth in the quickening breath\\nof May, and melting all nature into ecstasy\\nand song. If it really be so great a felicity,\\nand if it be a boon thus generally dispensed to\\nthe most insignificant beings, why is he alone\\ncut off from its enjoyments?\\nOft would I think, O Lord, what may this be,\\nThat love is of such noble myght and kynde?\\nLoving his folke, and such prosperitee,\\nIs it of him, as we in books do find\\nMay he oure hertes setten and unbynd\\nHath he upon oure hertes such maistrye?\\nOr is all this but feynit fantasye?\\nFor giff lie be of so grete excellence\\nThat he of every wight hath care and charge,\\nWhat have I gilt f to him, or done offense,\\nThat I am thral d, and birdis go at large?\\nIn the midst of his musing, as he casts his eye\\ndownward, he beholds the fairest and the\\nfrebhest young floure that ever he had seen.\\nIt is the lovely Lady Jane, walking in the gar-\\nden to enjoy the beauty of that fresh May\\nmorrowe. Breaking thus suddenly upon his\\nsight in a moment of loneliness and excited\\nsusceptibility, she at once captivates the fancy\\nof the romantic prince, and becomes the object\\nof his wandering wishes, the sovereign of his\\nideal world.\\nThere is, in this charming scene, an evident\\nSetten, incline.\\nf Gilt, what injury have I done, etc.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 133\\nresemblance to the early part of Chaucer s\\nKnight s Tale, where Palamon and Arcite fall\\nin love with Emilia, whom they see walking\\nin the garden of their prison. Perhaps the\\nsimilarity of the actual fact to the incident\\nwhich he had read in Chaucer may have in-\\nduced James to dwell on it in his poem. His\\ndescription of the Lady Jane is given in the\\npicturesque and minute manner of his master,\\nand, being doubtless taken from the life, is a\\nperfect portrait of a beauty of that day. He\\ndwells with the fondness of a lover on every\\narticle of her apparel, from the net of pearl,\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2splendent with emeralds and sapphires, that\\nconfined her golden hair, even to the goodly\\nchaine of small orfeverye about her neck\\nwhereby there hung a ruby in shape of a\\nheart, that seemed, he says, like a spark of fire\\nburning upon her white bosom. Her dress of\\nwhite tissue was looped up to enable her to\\nwalk with more freedom. She was accom-\\npanied by two female attendants, and about\\nher sported a little hound decorated with bells,\\nprobably the small Italian hound of exquisite\\nS3^mmetry which was a parlor favorite and pet\\namong the fashionable dames of ancient times.\\nJames closes his description by a burst of gen-\\neral eulogium\\nIn her was youth, beauty, with humble port,\\nBounty, richesse, and womanly feature:\\nGod better knows than my pen can report,\\nWisdom, largesse, f estate,:}: and cunning sure.\\nWrought gold. f Largesse, bounty.\\nX Estate, dignity. Cunning, discretion.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "134 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nIn every point so guided her measure,\\nIn word, in deed, in shape, in countenance.\\nThat nature might no more her child advance.\\nThe departure of the Lady Jane from the gar-\\nden puts an end to this transient riot of the\\nheart. With her departs the amorous illusion\\nthat had shed a temporary charm over the\\nscene of his captivity, and he relapses into\\nloneliness, now rendered tenfold more intoler-\\nable by this passing beam of unattainable\\nbeauty. Through the long and weary day he\\nrepines at his unhappy lot, and when evening\\napproaches, and Phoebus, as he beautifully\\nexpresses it, had bade farewell to every leaf\\nand flower, he still lingers at the window,\\nand, laying his head upon the cold stone, gives\\nvent to a mingled flow of love and sorrow, un-\\ntil, gradually lulled by the mute melancholy\\nof the twilight hour, he lapses half- sleeping,\\nhalf swoon, into a vision, which occupies the\\nremainder of the poem, and in which is allegori-\\ncally shadowed out the history of his passion.\\nWhen he wakes from his trance, he rises\\nfrom his stony pillow, and, pacing his apart-\\nment, full of dreary reflections, questions his\\nspirit, whether it has been wandering; whether\\nindeed, all that has passed before his dreaming\\nfancy has been conjured up by preceding cir-\\ncumstances, or whether it is a vision intended\\nto comfort and assure him in his despondency.\\nIf the latter, he prays that some token may be\\nsent to confirm the promise of happier days,\\ngiven him in his slumbers. Suddenly, a turtle-\\ndove of the purest whiteness comes flying in", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 135\\nat the window, and alights upon his hand,\\nbearing in her bill a branch of red gilliflower,\\non the leaves of which is written, in letters of\\ngold, the following sentence\\nAwake awake I bring, lover, I bring\\nThe newis glad, that blissful is and sure\\nOf thy comfort now laugh, and play, and sing.\\nFor in the heaven decretit is thy cure.\\nHe receives the branch with mingled hope\\nand dread; reads it with rapture; and this he\\nsays was the first token of his succeeding hap-\\npiness. Whether this is a mere poetic fiction,\\nor whether the Lady Jane did actually send\\nhim a token of her favor in this romantic way,\\nremains to be determined according to the fate\\nor fancy of the reader. He concludes his poem\\nby intimating that, the promise conveyed in\\nthe vision and by the flower, is fulfilled by his\\nbeing restored to liberty, and made happy in\\nthe possession of the sovereign of his heart.\\nSuch is the poetical account given by James\\nof his love adventures in Windsor Castle.\\nHow much of it is absolute fact, and how\\nmuch the embellishment of fancy, it is fruit-\\nless to conjecture; let us not, however, reject\\nevery romantic incident as incompatible with\\nreal life, but let us sometimes take a poet at\\nhis word. I have noticed merely those parts\\nof the poem immediately connected with the\\ntower, and have passed over a large part which\\nwas in the allegorical vein, so much cultivated\\nat that day. The language, of course, is\\nquaint and antiquated, so that the beauty of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "156 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nman}^ of its golden phrases will scarcely be\\nperceived at the present day, but it is impos-\\nsible not to be charmed with the genuine sen-\\ntiment, the delightful artlessness and urbanity,\\nwhich prevail throughout it. The descrip-\\ntions of Nature too, with which it is embel-\\nlished, are given with a truth, a discrimination\\nand a freshness, worthy of the most cultivated\\nperiods of the art.\\nAs an amatory poem, it is edifying, in these\\ndays of coarser thinking, to notice the nature,\\nrefinement, and exquisite delicacy which per-\\nvade it banishing every gross thought, or im-\\nmodest expression, and presenting female love-\\nliness, clothed in all its chivalrous attributes\\nof almost supernatural purity and grace.\\nJames flourished nearly about the time of\\nChaucer and Gower, and was evidently an ad-\\nmirer and studier of their writings. Indeed in\\none of his stanzas he acknowledges them as\\nhis masters; and in some parts of his poem we\\nfind traces of similarity to their productions,\\nmore especially to those of Chaucer. There\\nare always, however, general features of\\nresemblance in the works of contemporary\\nauthors, which are not so much borrowed from\\neach other as from the times. Writers, like\\nbees, toll their sweets in the wide world they\\nincorporate with their own conceptions, the\\nanecdotes and. thoughts current in society;\\nand thus each generation has some features in\\ncommon, characteristic of the age in which it\\nlives.\\nJames belongs to one of the most brilliant", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 13?\\neras of our literary history, and establishes the\\nclaims of his country to a participation in its\\nprimitive honors. Whilst a small cluster of\\nEnglish writers are constantly cited as the\\nfathers of our verse, the name of their great\\nScottish compeer is apt to be passed over in\\nsilence but he is evidently worthy of being en-\\nrolled in that little constellation of remote but\\nnever-failing luminaries who shine in the high-\\nest firmament of literature, and who, like\\nmorning stars, sang together at the bright\\ndawning of British poesy.\\nSuch of my readers as may not be familiar\\nwith Scottish history (though the manner in\\nwhich it has of late been woven with captivat-\\ning fiction has made it a universal study) may\\nbe curious to learn something of the subse-\\nquent history of James and the fortunes of his\\nlove. His passion for the Lady Jane, as it was\\nthe solace of his captivity, so it facilitated his\\nrelease, it being imagined by the Court that a\\nconnection with the blood-royal of England\\nwould attach him to its own interests. He\\nwas ultimately restored to his liberty and\\ncrown, having previously espoused the Lady\\nJane, who accompanied him to Scotland, and\\nmade him a most tender and devoted wife.\\nHe found his kingdom in great confusion,\\nthe feudal chieftains having taken advantage\\nof the troubles and irregularities of a long\\ninterregnum, to strengthen themselves in their\\npossessions, and place themselves above the\\npower of the laws. James sought to found\\nthe basis of his power in the affections of his\\n10 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "138 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\npeople. He attached the lower orders to him\\nby the reformation of abuses, the temperate\\nand equable administration of justice, the en-\\ncouragement of the arts of peace, and the\\npromotion of everything that could diffuse com-\\nfort, competency, and innocent enjoyment\\nthrough the humblest ranks of society. He\\nmingled occasionally among the common\\npeople in disguise; visited their firesides; en-\\ntered into their cares, their pursuits, and their\\namusements; informed himself of the me-\\nchanical arts, and how they could best be pat-\\nronized and improved and was thus an all-\\npervading spirit, watching with a benevolent\\neye over the meanest of his subjects. Having\\nin this generous manner made himself strong\\nin the hearts of the common people, he turned\\nhimself to curb the power of the factious\\nnobility; to strip them of those dangerous im-\\nmunities which they had usurped to punish\\nsuch as had been guilty of flagrant offences\\nand to bring the whole into proper obedience\\nto the Crown. For some time they bore this\\nwith outward submission, but with secret im-\\npatience and brooding resentment. A conspir-\\nacy was at length formed against his life, at\\nthe head of which was his own uncle, Robert\\nStewart, Earl of Athol, who, being too old\\nhimself for the perpetration of the deed of\\nblood, instigated his grandson, Sir Robert\\nStewart, together with Sir Robert Graham,\\nand others of less note, to commit the deed.\\nThey broke into his bedchamber at the\\nDominican convent near Perth, where he was", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 139\\nresiding, and barbarously murdered him by\\noft-repeated wounds. His faithful queen,\\nrushing to throw her tender body between him\\nand the sword, was twice wounded in the in-\\neffectual attempt to shield him from the\\nassassin and it was not until she had been\\nforcibly torn from his person, that the murder\\nwas accomplished.\\nIt was the recollection of this romantic tale\\nof former times, and of the golden little poem,\\nwhich had its birthplace in this tower, that\\nmade me visit the old pile with more than com-\\nmon interest. The suit of armor hanging up\\nin the hall, richly gilt and embellished, as if\\nto figure in the tourney, brought the image of\\nthe gallant and romantic prince vividly before\\nmy imagination. I paced the deserted\\nchambers where he had composed his poem; I\\nleaned upon the window, and endeavored to\\npersuade myself it was the very one where he\\nhad been visited by his vision; I looked out\\nupon the spot where he had first seen the Lady\\nJane. It was the same genial and joyous\\nmonth the birds were again vying with each\\nother in strains of liquid melody everything\\nwas bursting into vegetation, and budding\\nforth the tender promise of the year. Time,\\nwhich delights to obliterate the sterner memo-\\nrials of human pride, seems to have passed\\nlightly over this little scene of poetry and love,\\nand to have withheld his desolating hand.\\nSeveral centuries have gone by, yet the gar-\\nden still flourishes at the foot of the tower. It\\noccupies what was once the moat of the keep:", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "140 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nand, though some parts have been separated\\nby dividing walls, yet others have still their\\narbors and shaded walks, as in the days of\\nJames, and the whole is sheltered, blooming,\\nand retired. There is a charm about the spot\\nthat has been printed by the footsteps of de-\\nparted beatity, and consecrated by the inspira-\\ntions of the poet, which is heightened, rather\\nthan impaired, by the lapse of ages. It is, in-\\ndeed, the gift of poetry, to hallow every place\\nin which it moves; to breathe around nature\\nan odor more exquisite than the perfume of\\nthe rose, and to shed over it a tint more magi-\\ncal than the blush of morning.\\nOthers may dwell on the illustrious deeds of\\nJames as a warrior and a legislator; but I\\nhave delighted to view him merely as the\\ncompanion of his fellow-men, the benefactor of\\nthe human heart, stooping from his high\\nestate to sow the sweet flowers of poetry and\\nsong in the paths of common life. He was\\nthe first to cultivate the vigorous and hardy\\nplant of Scottish genius, which has since be-\\ncome so prolific of the most wholesome and\\nhighly flavored fruit. He carried with him\\ninto the sterner regions of the north, all the\\nfertilizing arts of southern refinement. He\\ndid everything in his power to win his country-\\nmen to the gay, the elegant, and gentle arts,\\nwhich soften and refine the character of a\\npeople, and wreathe a grace round the lofti-\\nness of a proud and warlike spirit. He wrote\\nmany poems, which, unfortunately for the full-\\nness of his fame, are now lost to the Vv^orld:", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 141\\none, which is still preserved, called Christ s\\nKirk of the Green, shows how diligently he\\nhad made himself acquainted with the rustic\\nsports and pastimes, which constitute such a\\nsource of kind and social feeding among the\\nScottish peasantry and with what simple and\\nhappy humor he could enter into their enjoy-\\nments. He contributed greatly to improve\\nthe national music and traces of his tender\\nsentiment and elegant taste are said to exist in\\nthose witching airs, still piped among the wild\\nmountains and lonely glens of Scotland. He\\nhas thus connected his image with whatever is\\nmost gracious and endearing in the national\\ncharacter; he has embalmed his memory in\\nsong, and floated his name to after-ages in the\\nrich streams of Scottish melody. The recol-\\nlection of these things was kindling at my\\nheart, as I paced the silent scene of his impris-\\nonment. I have visited Vaucluse with as\\nmuch enthusiasm as a pilgrim would visit the\\nshrine at Loretto but I have never felt more\\npoetical devotion than when contemplating\\nthe old tower and the little garden at Windsor,\\nand musing over the romantic loves of the\\nLady Jane, and the Royal Poet of Scotland.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "142 THE SKETCH BOOK,\\nTHE COUNTRY CHURCH.\\nA gentleman\\nWhat o the woolpack? or the sugar-chest?\\nOr lists of velvet? which is t, pound, or yard,\\nYou vend your gentry by?\\nBeggar s Bush,\\nThere are few places more favorable to the\\nstedy of character than an English country\\nchurch. I was once passing a few weeks at\\nthe seat of a friend who resided in the vicinity\\none the appearance of which particularly\\nstoick my fancy. It was one of those rich\\nMiiorsels of quaint antiquity, which gives such\\nu peculiar charm to English landscape. ft\\nstood in the midst of a country filled with\\nancient families, and contained within its cold\\nand silent aisles the congregated dust of many\\nnoble generations. The interior walls were\\nencrusted with monuments of every age and\\nstyle. The light streamed through windows\\ndimmed with armorial bearings, richly embla-\\nsiomed in stained glass. In various parts of the\\nclrarch were tombs of knights, and high-born\\ndames, of gorgeous workmanship, with their\\neffigies in colored marble. On every side, the\\neye was struck with some instance of aspiring\\nmortality, some haughty memorial which\\nIraman pride had erected over its kindred", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 143\\ndust in this temple of the most humble of all\\nreligions.\\nThe congregation was composed of the\\nneighboring people of rank, who sat in pews\\nsumptuously lined and cushioned, furnished\\nwith richly-gilded prayer-books, and decorated\\nwith their arms upon the pew doors; of the\\nvillagers and peasantry, who filled the back\\nseats and a small gallery beside the organ;\\nand of the poor of the parish, who were ranged\\non benches in the aisles.\\nThe service was performed by a snuffling,\\nwell-fed vicar, who had a snug dwelling near\\nthe church. He was a privileged guest at all\\nthe tables of the neighborhood, and had been\\nthe keenest fox-hunter in the country, until\\nage and good living had disabled him from\\ndoing anything more than ride to see the hounds\\nthrow off, and make one at the hunting dinner.\\nUnder the ministry of such a pastor, I found\\nit impossible to get into the train of thought\\nsuitable to the time and place; so, having, like\\nmany other feeble Christians, compromised\\nwith my conscience, by laying the sin of my\\nown delinquency at another person s threshold,\\nI occupied myself by making observations on\\nmy neighbors.\\nI was as yet a stranger in England, and curi-\\nous to notice the manners of its fashionable\\nclasses. I found, as usual, that there was the\\nleast pretension where there was the most\\nacknowledged title to respect. I was particu-\\nlarly struck, for instance, with the family of a\\nnobleman of high rank, consisting of several", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "144 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nsons and daughters. Nothing could be more\\nsimple and unassuming than their appearance.\\nThey generally came to church in the plainest\\nequipage, and often on foot. The young ladies\\nwould stop and converse in the kindest man-\\nner with the peasantry, caress the children, and\\nlisten to the stories of the humble cottagers.\\nTheir countenances were open and beautifully\\nfair, with an expression of high refinement, but\\nat the same time a frank cheerfulness and\\nengaging affability. Their brothers were tall,\\nand elegantly formed. They were dressed\\nfashionably, but simple with strict neatness\\nand propriety, but without any mannerism or\\nfoppishness. Their whole demeanor was easy\\nand natural, with that lofty grace and noble\\nfrankness which bespeak free-born souls that\\nhave never been checked in their growth by\\nfeelings of inferiority. There is a healthful\\nhardiness about real dignity, that never dreads\\ncontact and communion with others, however\\nhumble. It is only spurious pride that is mor-\\nbid and sensitive, and shrinks from every\\ntouch. I was pleased to see the manner in\\nwhich they would converse with the peasantry\\nabout those rural concerns and field-sports in\\nwhich the gentlemen of the country so much\\ndelight. In these conversations there was\\nneither haughtiness on the one part, nor ser-\\nvility on the other, and you were only reminded\\nof the difference of rank by the habitual respect\\nof the peasant.\\nIn contrast to these was the family of a\\nwealthy citizen, who had amassed a vast for-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 145\\ntune, and, having purchased the estate and\\nmansion of a ruined nobleman in the neighbor-\\nhood, was endeavoring to assume all the style\\nand dignity of an hereditary lord of the soil.\\nThe family ahvays came to church en prince.\\nThey were rolled majestically along in a car-\\nriage emblazoned with arms. The crest glit-\\ntered in silver radiance from every part of the\\nharness where a crest could possibly be placed.\\nA fat coachman, in a three-cornered hat richly\\nlaced and a flaxen wig, curling close round his\\nrosy face, was seated on the box, with a sleek\\nDanish dog beside him. Two footmen in gor-\\ngeous liveries, with huge bouquets, and gold-\\nheaded canes, lolled behind. The carriage\\nrose and sunk on its long springs, with a pecu-\\nliar stateliness of motion. The very horses\\nchamped their bits, arched their necks, and\\nglanced their eyes more proudly than common\\nhorses; either because they had caught a little\\nof the family feeling, or were reined up more\\ntightly than ordinary.\\nI could not but admire the style with which\\nthis splendid pageant was brought up to the\\ngate of the churchyard. There was a vast\\neffect produced at the turning of an angle of\\nthe wall a great smacking of the whip, strain-\\ning and scrambling of the horses, glistening of\\nharness, and flashing of wheels through gravel.\\nThis was the moment of triumph and vain glory\\nto the coachman. The horses were urged and\\nchecked, until they were fretted into a foam.\\nThey threw out their feet in a prancing trot,\\ndashing about pebbles at every step. The\\n10", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "146 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ncrowd of villagers sauntering quietly to church\\nopened precipitately to the right and left, gap-\\ning in vacant admiration. On reaching the\\ngate, the horses were pulled up with a sudden-\\nness that produced an immediate stop, and\\nalmost threw them on their haunches.\\nThere was an extraordinary hurry of the\\nfootmen to alight, pull down the steps, and\\nprepare everything for the descent on earth of\\nthis august family. The old citizen first\\nemerged his round red face from out the door,\\nlooking about him with the pompous air of a\\nman accustomed to rule on Change, and shake\\nthe Stock Market, with a nod. His consort, a\\nfine, fleshy, comfortable dame, follov/ed him.\\nThere seemed, I must confess, but little pride\\nin her composition. She was the picture of\\nbroad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world\\nwent well with her; and she liked the world.\\nShe had fine clothes, a fine house, a fine car-\\nriage, fine children everything was fine about\\nher it was nothing but driving about and visit-\\ning and feasting. Life was to her a per-\\npetual revel it was one long Lord Mayor s Day.\\nTwo daughters succeeded to this goodly\\ncouple. They certainly were handsome, but\\nhad a supercilious air that chilled admiration\\nand disposed the spectator to be critical.\\nThey were ultra-fashionable in dress, and,\\nthough no one could deny the richness of their\\ndecorations, yet their appropriateness might be\\nquestioned amidst the simplicity of a country\\nchurch. They descended loftily from the car-\\nriage, and moved up the line of peasantry with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 147\\na step that seemed dainty of the soil it trod on.\\nThey cast an excursive glance around, that\\npassed coldly over the burly faces of the\\npeasantry, until they met the eyes of the noble-\\nman s family, when their countenances imme-\\ndiately brightened into smiles, and they made\\nthe most profound and elegant courtesies,\\nwhich were returned in a manner that showed\\nthey were but slight acquaintances.\\nI must not forget the two sons of this inspir-\\ning citizen, who came to church in a dashing\\ncurricle with outriders. They were arrayed in\\nthe extremity of the mode, with all that ped-\\nantry of dress which marks the man of ques-\\ntionable pretensions to style. They kept en-\\ntirely by themselves, eyeing every one askance\\nthat came near them, as if measuring his\\nclaims to respectability yet they were without\\nconversation, except the exchange of an occa-\\nsional cant phrase. They even moved arti-\\nficially, for their bodies, in compliance with\\nthe caprice of the day, had been disciplined\\ninto the absence of all ease and freedom. Art\\nhad done everything to accomplish them as\\nmen of fashion, but Nature had denied them\\nthe nameless grace. They were vulgarly\\nshaped, like men formed for the common pur-\\nposes of life, and had that air of supercilious\\nassumption which is never seen in the true\\ngentleman.\\n1 have been rather minute in drawing the\\npictures of these two families, because I con-\\nsidered them specimens of what is often to be\\nmet with in this country the unpretending", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "148 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ngreat, and the arrogant little. I have no\\nrespect for titled rank, unless it be accom-\\npanied with true nobility of soul but I have\\nremarked, in all countries where artificial dis-\\ntinctions exist, that the very highest classes\\nare always the most courteous and unassuming.\\nThose who are well assured of their own stand-\\ning are least apt to trespass on that of others;\\nwhereas, nothing is so offensive as the aspir-\\nings of vulgarity, which thinks to elevate itself\\nby humiliating its neighbor.\\nAs I have brought these families into con-\\ntrast, I must notice their behavior in church.\\nThat of the nobleman s family was quiet, seri-\\nous, and attentive. Not that they appeared to\\nhave any fervor of devotion, but rather a\\nrespect for sacred things, and sacred places,\\ninseparable from good-breeding. The others,\\non the contrary, were in a perpetual flutter\\nand whisper; they, betrayed a continual con-\\nsciousness of finery, and the sorry ambition of\\nbeing the wonders of a rural congregation.\\nThe old gentleman was the only one really\\nattentive to the service. He took the whole\\nburden of family devotion upon himself stand-\\ning bolt upright, and uttering the responses\\nwith a loud voice that might be heard all over\\nthe church. It was evident that he was one of\\nthese thorough Church-and-king men, who\\nconnect the idea of devotion and loyalty; who\\nconsider the Deit3^ somehow or other, of the\\ngovernment party, and religion a very excel-\\nlent sort of thing, that ought to be counte-\\nnanced and kept up.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 149\\nWhen he joined so loudly in the service, it\\nseemed more by way of example to the lower\\norders, to show them that, though so great and\\nwealthy, he was not above being religious; as\\nI have seen a turtle-fed alderman swallow pub-\\nlicly a basin of charity soup, smacking his lips\\nat every mouthful and pronouncing it excel-\\nlent food for the poor.\\nWhen the service was at an end, I was curi-\\nous to witness the several exits of my groups.\\nThe young noblemen and their sisters, as the\\nday was fine, preferred strolling home across\\nthe fields, chatting with the country people as\\nthey went. The others departed as they came,\\nin grand parade. Again were the equipages\\nwheeled up to the gate. There was again the\\nsmacking of whips, the clattering of hoofs, and\\nthe glittering of harness. The horses started\\noff almost at a bound; the villagers again hur-\\nried to right and left the wheels threw up a\\ncloud of dust, and the aspiring family was rapt\\nout of sight in a whirlwind.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "150 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nTHE WIDOW AND HER SON.\\nPittie olde age, within whose silver haires\\nHonour and reverence evermore have rain d.\\nMarlowe s Tamburlaine.\\nThose who are in the habit of remarking- such\\nmatters must have noticed the passive quiet of\\nan English landscape on Sunday. The clack-\\ning of the mill, the regularly recurring stroke\\nof the flail, the din of the blacksmith s ham-\\nmer, the whistling of the ploughman, the\\nrattling of the cart, and all other sounds of\\nrural labor are suspended. The very farm-\\ndogs bark less frequently, being less disturbed\\nby passing travelers. At such times I have\\nalmost fancied the wind sunk into quiet, and\\nthat the sunny landscape, with its fresh green\\ntints melting into blue haze, enjoyed the hal-\\nlowed calm.\\nSweet day, so pure, so calm, so brght.\\nThe bridal of the earth and sky.\\nWell was it ordained that the day of devotion\\nshould be a day of rest. The holy repose\\nwhich reigns over the face of nature has its\\nmoral influence; every restless passion is\\ncharmed down, and we feel the natural religion\\nof the soul gently springing up within us.\\nFor my part, there are feelings that visit me,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 151\\nin a country church, amid the beautiful seren-\\nity of nature, which I experience nowhere else\\nand if not a more religious, I think I am a\\nbetter man on Sunday than on any other day\\nof the seven.\\nDuring my recent residence in the country,\\nI used frequently to attend at the old village\\nchurch. Its shadowy aisles, its mouldering\\nmonuments, its dark oaken paneling, all rev-\\nerend with the gloom of departed years, seemed\\nto fit it for the haunt of solemn meditation\\nbut, being in a wealthy, aristocratic neighbor-\\nhood, the glitter of fashion penetrated even\\ninto the sanctuary; and I felt myself continu-\\nally thrown back upon the world, by the fri-\\ngidity and pomp of the poor worms around me.\\nThe only being in the whole congregation who\\nappeared thoroughly to feel the humble and\\nprostrate piety of a true Christian was a poor\\ndecrepit old woman, bending under the weight\\nof years and infirmities. She bore the traces\\nof something better than abject poverty. The\\nlingerings of descent pride were visible in her\\nappearance. Her dress, though humble in the\\nextreme, was scrupulously clean. Some trivial\\nrespect, too, had been awarded her, for she did\\nnot take her seat among the village poor, but\\nsat alone on the steps of the altar. She seemed\\nto have survived all love, all friendship, all\\nsociety, and to have nothing left her but the\\nhopes of heaven. When I saw her feebly ris-\\ning and bending her aged form in prayer;\\nhabitually conning her prayer-book, which her\\npalsied hand and failing eyes could not permit", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "152 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nher to read, but which she evidently knew by\\nheart, I felt persuaded that the faltering voice\\nof that poor woman arose to heaven far before\\nthe responses of the clerk, the swell of the\\norgan, or the chanting of the choir.\\nI am fond of loitering about country\\nchurches, and this was so delightfully situated,\\nthat it frequently attracted me. It stood on a\\nknoll, round which a small stream made a\\nbeautiful bend and then wound its way\\nthrough a long reach of soft meadow scenery.\\nThe church was surrounded by yew trees,\\nwhich seemed almost coeval with itself. Its\\ntall gothic spire shot up lightly from among\\nthem, with rooks and crows generally wheel-\\ning about it. I was seated there one still\\nsunny morning watching two laborers who\\nwere digging a grave. They had chosen one\\nof the most remote and neglected corners of\\nthe churchyard, where, from the number of\\nnameless graves around, it would appear that\\nthe indigent and friendless were huddled into\\nthe earth. I was told that the new-made\\ngrave was for the only son of a poor widow.\\nWhile I was meditating on the distinctions of\\nworldly rank, which extend thus down into\\nthe very dust, the toll of the bell announced\\nthe approach of the funeral. They were the\\nobsequies of poverty, with which pride had\\nnothing to do. A coffin of the plainest mate-\\nrials, without pall or other covering, was borne\\nby some of the villagers. The sexton walked\\nbefore with an air of cold indifference. There\\n,were no mock mourners in the trappings of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 153\\naffected woe, but there was one real mourner\\nwho feebly tottered after the corpse. It was\\nthe aged mother of the deceased, the poor old\\nwoman whom I had seen seated on the steps\\nof the altar. She was supported by a humble\\nfriend, who was endeavoring to comfort her.\\nA few of the neighboring poor had joined the\\ntrain, and some children of the village were\\nrunning hand in hand, now shouting with un-\\nthinking mirth, and now pausing to gaze, with\\nchildish curiosity on the grief of the mourn-\\ner.\\nAs the funeral train approached the grave,\\nthe parson issued from the church- porch, arrayed\\nin the surplice, with prayer-book in hand, and\\nattended by the clerk. The service, however,\\nwas a mere act of charity. The deceased had\\nbeen destitute, and the survivor was penniless.\\nIt was shuffled through, therefore, in form, but\\ncoldly and unfeelingly. The well-fed priest\\nmoved but a few steps from the church-door\\nhis voice could scarcely be heard at the grave\\nand never did I hear the funeral service, that\\nsublime and touching ceremony, turned into\\nsuch a frigid m.ummery of words.\\nI approached the grave. The coffin was\\nplaced on the ground. On it were inscribed\\nthe name and age of the deceased George\\nSomers, aged 26 years. The poor mother had\\nbeen assisted to kneel down at the head of it.\\nHer withered hands were clasped, as if in\\nprayer but I could perceive, by a feeble rock-\\ning of the body, and a convulsive motion of\\nthe lips, that she was gazing on the last relics", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "154 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nof her son with the yearnings of a mother s\\nheart.\\nPreparations were made to deposit the coffin\\nin the earth. There was that bustling stif,\\nwhich breaks so harshly on the feelings of\\ngrief and affection directions given in the cold\\ntones of business; the striking of spades into\\nsand and gravel; which, at the grave of those\\nwe love, is of all sounds the most withering.\\nThe bustle around seemed to waken the\\nmother from a wretched revery. She raised\\nher glazed eyes, and looked about with a faint\\nwildness. As the men approached with cords\\nto lower the coffin into the grave, she wrung\\nher hands, and broke into an agony of grief.\\nThe poor woman who attended her took her by\\nthe arm endeavoring to raise her from the\\nearth, and to whisper something like consola-\\ntion: Nay, now nay, now don t take it so\\nsorely to heart. She could only shake her\\nhead, and wring her hands, as one not to be\\ncomforted.\\nAs they lowered the body into the earth, the\\ncreaking of the cords seemed to agonize her;\\nbut when, on some accidental obstruction,\\nthere was a jostling of the coffin, all the ten-\\nderness of the mother burst forth, as if any\\nharm could come to him who was far beyond\\nthe reach of worldly suffering.\\nI could see no more my heart swelled into\\nmy throat\u00e2\u0080\u0094 my eyes filled with tears; I felt\\nas if I were acting a barbarous part in stand-\\ning by and gazing idly on this scene of mater-\\nnal anguish. I wandered to another part of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 155\\nthe churchyard, where I remained until the\\nfuneral train had dispersed.\\nWhen I saw the mother slowly and painfully\\nquitting the grave, leaving behind her the\\nremains of all that was dear to her on earth,\\nand returning to silence and destitution, my\\nheart ached for her. What, thought I, are\\nthe distresses of the rich? They have friends\\nto soothe pleasures to beguile a world to\\ndivert and dissipate their griefs. What are\\nthe sorrows of the young? Their growing\\nminds soon close above the wound their elas-\\ntic spirits soon rise beneath the pressure their\\ngreen and ductile affections soon twine round\\nnew objects. But the sorrows of the poor, who\\nhave no outward appliances to soothe\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the sor-\\nrow of the aged, with whom life at best is but\\na wintry day, and who can look for no\\nafter-growth of joy the sorrows of a widow,\\naged, solitary, destitute, mourning over an\\nonly son, the last solace of her years, these\\nare indeed sorrows which make us feel the\\nimpotency of consolation.\\nIt was some time before I left the church-\\nyard. On my way homeward, I met with the\\nwoman who had acted as comforter: she was\\njust returning from accompanying the mother\\nto her lonely habitation, and I drew from her\\nsome particulars connected with the affecting\\nscene I had witnessed.\\nThe parents of the deceased had resided in\\nthe village from childhood. They had inhab-\\nited one of the neatest cottages, and by various\\nrural occupations, and the assistance of a small", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "156 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ngarden, had supported themselves creditably\\nand comfortably, and led a happy and a blame-\\nless life. They had one son, who had grown\\nup to be the staff and pride of their age. Oh,\\nsir! said the good woman, he was such a\\ncomely lad, so sweet-tempered, so kind to every\\none around him, so dutiful to his parents! It\\ndid one s heart good to see him of a Sunday,\\ndrest out in his best, so tall, so straight, so\\ncheery, supporting his old mother to church;\\nfor she was always fonder of leaning on\\nGeorge s arm than on her good man s; and,\\npoor soul, she might well be proud of him, for a\\nfiner lad there was not in the country round.\\nUnfortunately, the son was tempted, during\\na year of scarcity and agricultural hardship,\\nto enter into the service of one of the small\\ncraft that plied on a neighboring river. He\\nhad not been long in this employ, when he was\\nentrapped by a press-gang, and carried off to\\nsea. His parents received tidings of his seiz-\\nure, but beyond that they could learn nothing.\\nIt was the loss of their main prop. The\\nfather, who was already infirm, grew heartless\\nand melancholy, and sunk into his grave.\\nThe v^^idow, left lonely in her age and feeble-\\nness, could no longer support herself, and\\ncame upon the parish. Still there was a kind\\nfeeling towards her throughout the village,\\nand a certain respect as being one of the oldest\\ninhabitants. As no one applied for the cottage\\nin which she had passed so many happy days,\\nshe was permitted to rem.ain in it, where she\\nlived solitary and almost helpless. The few", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 157\\nwants of nature were chiefly supplied from the\\nscanty productions of her little garden, which\\nthe neighbors would now and then cultivate\\nfor her. It was but a few days before the time\\nat which these circumstances were told me,\\nthat she was gathering some vegetables for her\\nrepast, when she heard the cottage-door which\\nfaced the garden, suddenly opened. A\\nstranger came out, and seemed to be looking\\neagerly and wildly around. He was dressed\\nin seamen s clothes, was emaciated and\\nghastly pale, and bore the air of one broken\\nby sickness and hardships. He saw her and\\nhastened towards her, but his steps were faint\\nand faltering; he sank on his knees before her\\nand sobbed like a child. The poor woman\\ngazed upon him with a vacant and wandering\\neye. Oh, my dear, dear mother! don t you\\nknow your son? your poor boy George? It\\nwas, indeed, the wreck of her once noble lad\\nwho, shattered by wounds, by sickness and\\nforeign imprisonment, had, at length, dragged\\nhis wasted limbs homeward, to repose among\\nthe scenes of his childhood.\\nI will not attempt to detail the particulars\\nof such a meeting, where sorrow and joy were\\nso completely blended: still, he was alive! he\\nwas come home! he might yet live to comfort\\nand cherish her old age! Nature, however,\\nwas exhausted in him and if anything had\\nbeen wanting to finish the work of fate, the\\ndesolation of his native cottage would have\\nbeen sufficient. He stretched himself on the\\npallet on which his widowed mother had passed", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "158 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmany a sleepless night, and he never rose from\\nit again.\\nThe villagers, when they heard that George\\nSomers had returned, crowded to see him,\\noffering every comfort and assistance that their\\nhumble means afforded. He was too weak,\\nhowever, to talk he could only look his\\nthanks. His mother was his constant atten-\\ndant, and he seemed unwilling to be helped\\nby any other hand.\\nThere is something in sickness that breaks\\ndown the pride of manhood, that softens the\\nheart, and brings it balck to the feelings of\\ninfancy. Who that has languished, even in\\nadvanced life, in sickness and despondency,\\nwho that has pined on a weary bed in the ne-\\nglect and loneliness of a foreign land, but has\\nthought on the mother that looked on his\\nchildhood, that smoothed his pillow, and\\nadministered to his helplessness? Oh, there is\\nan enduring tenderness in the love of a mother\\nto a son, that transcends all other affections\\nof the heart. It is neither to be chilled by\\nselfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weak-\\nened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingrati-\\ntude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his\\nconvenience she will surrender every pleasure\\nto his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame\\nand exult in his prosperity; and, if misfortune\\novertake him, he will be the dearer to her\\nfrom misfortune and if disgrace settle upon\\nhis name, she will still love and cherivSh him\\nin spite of his disgrace; and if all the world", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH COOK. 159\\nbeside cast him off, she will be all the world\\nto him.\\nPoor George Somers had known what it was\\nto be in sickness, and none to soothe lonely\\nand in prison, and none to visit him. He\\ncould not endure his mother from his sight\\nif she moved away, his eye would follow her.\\nShe would sit for hours by his bed watching\\nhim as he slept. Sometimes he would start\\nfrom a feverish dream, and look anxiously up\\nuntil he saw her bending over him when he\\nwould take her hand, lay it on his bosom, and\\nfall asleep with the tranquillity of a child. In\\nthis way he died.\\nMy first impulse on hearing this humble\\ntale of affliction was to visit the cottage of\\nthe mourner, and administer pecuniary assist-\\nance, and, if possible, comfort. I found, how-\\never, on inquiry, that the good feelings of the\\nvillagers had prompted them to do everything\\nthat the case admitted and as the poor know\\nbest how to console each other s sorrows, I\\ndid not venture to intrude.\\nThe next Sunday I was at the village church,\\nwhen, to my surprise, I saw the poor old\\nwoman tottering down the aisle to her accus-\\ntomed seat on the steps of the altar.\\nShe had made an effort to_ put on something\\nlike mourning for her son; and nothing could\\nbe more touching than this struggle between\\npious affection and utter poverty a black rib-\\nbon or so, a faded black handkerchief, and one\\nor two more such humble attempts to express\\nby outward signs that grief which passes show.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "160 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nWhen I looked round upon the storied monu-\\nments, the stately hatchments, the cold marble\\npomp with which grandeur mourned magnifi-\\ncently over departed pride, and turned to this\\npoor widow, bowed down by age and sorrow\\nat the altar of her God, and offering up the\\nprayers and praises of a pious though a broken\\nheart, I felt that this living monument of real\\ngrief was worth them all.\\nI related her story to some of the wealthy\\nmembers of the congregation, and they were\\nmoved by it. They exerted themselves to\\nrender her situation more comfortable, and to\\nlighten her afflictions. It was, however, but\\nsmoothing a few steps to the grave. In the\\ncourse of a Sunday or two after, she was missed\\nfrom her usual seat at church, and before I\\nleft the neighborhood I heard, with a feeling\\nof satisfaction, that she had quietly breathed\\nher last, and had gone to rejoin those she\\nloved, in that world where sorrow is never\\nknown and friends are never parted.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 161\\nA SUNDAY IN LONDON.*\\nIn a preceding paper I have spoken of an\\nEnglish Sunday in the country and its tran-\\nquillizing effect upon the landscape but where\\nis its sacred influence more strikingly appar-\\nent than in the very heart of that great Babel,\\nLondon? On this sacred day the gigantic\\nmonster is charmed into repose. The intoler-\\nable din and struggle of the week are at an\\nend. The shops are shut. The fires of forges\\nand manufactories are extinguished, and the\\nsun, no longer obscured by murky clouds of\\nsmoke, pours down a sober yellow radiance\\ninto the quiet streets. The few pedestrians\\nwe meet, instead of hurrying forward with\\nanxious countenances, move leisurely along;\\ntheir brows are smoothed from the wrinkles of\\nbusiness and care they have put on their Sun-\\nday looks and Sunday manners with their\\nSunday clothes, and are cleansed in mind as\\nwell as in person.\\nAnd now the melodious clangor of bells from\\nchurch towers summons their several flocks to\\nthe fold. Forth issues from his mansion the\\nfamily of the decent tradesman, the small chil-\\ndren in the advance then the citizen and his\\ncomely spouse, followed by the grown-up\\n*Part of a sketch omitted in. the preceding editions.\\nn Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "162 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ndaughters, with small morocco-bound prayer-\\nbooks laid in the folds of their pocket handker-\\nchiefs. The housemaid looks after them from\\nthe window, admiring the finery of the family,\\nand receiving, perhaps, a nod and smile from\\nher young mistresses, at whose toilet she has\\nassisted.\\nNow rumbles along the carriage of some\\nmagnate of the city, peradventure an alder-\\nman or a sheriff, and now the patter of many\\nfeet announces a procession of charity scholars\\nin uniforms of antique cut, and each with a\\nprayer-book under his arm.\\nThe ringing of bells is at an end; the rumb-\\nling of the carriage has ceased the pattering\\nof feet is heard no more the flocks are folded\\nin ancient churches, cramped up in by-lanes\\nand corners of the crowded city, where the\\nvigilant beadle keeps watch, like the shep-\\nherd s dog, round the threshold of the sanctu-\\nary. For a time everything is hushed, but soon\\nis heard the deep, pervading sound of the or-\\ngan, rolling and vibrating through the empty\\nlanes and courts, and the sweet chanting of\\nthe choir making them resound with melody\\nand praise. Never have I been more sensible\\nof the sanctifying effect of church music than\\nwhen I have heard it thus poured forth, like\\na river of joy, through the inmost recesses of\\nthis great metropolis, elevating it, as it were,\\nfrom all the sordid pollutions of the week, and\\nbearing the poor world-worn soul on a tide of\\ntriumphant harmony to heaven.\\nThe morning service is at an end. The", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 163\\nstreets are again alive with the congregations\\nreturning to their homes, but soon again re-\\nlapse into silence. Now comes on the Sunday-\\ndinner, which, to the city tradesman, is a meal\\nof some importance. There is more leisure\\nfor social enjoyment at the board. Members\\nof the family can now gather together, who are\\nseparated by the laborious occupations of the\\nweek. A school boy may be permitted on that\\nday to come to the paternal home; an old\\nfriend of the family takes his accustomed Sun-\\nday seat at the board, tells over his well-known\\nStories, and rejoices young and old with his\\nwell-known jokes.\\nOn Sunday afternoon the city pours forth its\\nlegions to breathe the fresh air and enjoy the\\nsunshine of the parks and rural environs.\\nSatirists may say what they please about the\\nrural enjoyments of a London citizen on Sun-\\nday, but to me there is something delightful in\\nbeholding the poor prisoner of the crowded\\nand dusty city enabled thus to come forth once\\na week and throw himself upon the green bos-\\nom of nature. He is like a child restored to\\nthe mother s breast and they who first spread\\nout these noble parks and magnificent pleasure\\ngrounds which surround this huge metropolis\\nhave done at least as much for its health and\\nmorality as if they had expended the amount\\nof cost in hospitals, prisons and penitentiaries.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "164 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nTHE BOAR S HEAD TAVERN,\\nEASTCHEAR\\nA SHAKESPEARIAN RESEARCH.\\nA tavern is the rendezvous, the exchange, the staple\\nof good fellows. I have heard my great-grandfather\\ntell, how his great-great-graadfather should say, that it\\nwas an old proverb when his great-grandfather was a\\nchild, that it was a good wind that blew a man to the\\nwine. \u00e2\u0080\u0094Mother Bombie.\\nIt is a pious custom in some Catholic coun-\\ntries to honor the memory of saints by votive\\nlights burnt before their pictures. The pop-\\nularity of a saint, therefore, may be known by\\nthe number of these offerings. One, perhaps,\\nis left to moulder in the darkness of his little\\nchapel another may have a solitary lamp to\\nthrow its blinking rays athwart his effigy;\\nwhile the whole blaze of adoration is lavished\\nat the shrine of some beatified father of re-\\nnown. The wealthy devotee brings his huge\\nluminarj^ of wax, the eager zealot, his seven-\\nbranched candlestick and even the mendicant\\npilgrim is by no means satisfied that sufficient\\nlight is thrown upon the deceased unless he.\\nhangs up his little lamp of smoking oil. The\\nconsequence is, that in the eagerness to en-\\nlighten, they are often apt to obscure; and I\\nhave occasionally seen an unlucky saint almost\\ni", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 165\\nsmoked out of countenance by the officiousness\\nof his followers.\\nIn like manner has it fared *with the immor-\\ntal Shakespeare. Every writer considers it his\\nbounden duty to light up some portion of his\\ncharacter or works, and to rescue some merit\\nfrom oblivion. The commentator, opulent in\\nwords, produces vast tomes of dissertations;\\nthe common herd of editors send up mists of\\nobscurity from their notes at the bottom of\\neach page and every casual scribbler brings\\nhis farthing rushlight of eulogy or research to\\nswell the cloud of incense and of smoke.\\nAs I honor all established usages of my\\nbrethren of the quill, I thought it but proper\\nto contribute my mite of homage to the mem-\\nory of the illustrious bard. I was for some\\ntime, however, sorely puzzled in what way I\\nshould discharge this duty. I found myself\\nanticipated in every attempt at a new reading\\nevery doubtful line had been explained a dozen\\ndifferent ways, and perplexed beyond the reach\\nof elucidation; and as to fine passages, they\\nhad all been amply praised by previous admir-\\ners; nay, so completely had the bard, of late,\\nbeen overlarded with panegyric by a great\\nGerman critic that it was difficult now to find\\neven a fault that had not been argued into a\\nbeauty.\\nIn this perplexity I was one morning turn-\\ning over his pages when I casually opened\\nupon the comic scenes of Henry IV., and\\nwas, in a moment, completely lost in the mad-\\ncap revelry of the Boar s Head Tavern. So", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "166 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nvividly and naturally are these scenes of hu-\\nmor depicted, and with such force and consis-\\ntency are the characters sustained, that they\\nbecome mingled up in the mind with the facts\\nand personages of real life. To few readers\\ndoes it occur that these are all ideal creations\\nof a poet s brain, and that, in sober truth, no\\nsuch knot of merry roisterers ever enlivened\\nthe dull neighborhood of Eastcheap.\\nFor my part, I love to give myself up to the\\nillusions of poetry. A hero of fiction that\\nnever existed is just as valuable to me as a\\nhero of history that existed a thousand years\\nsince and, if I may be excused such an insensi-\\nbility to the common ties of human nature, I\\nwould not give up fat Jack for half the great\\nmen of ancient chronicle. What have the\\nheroes of yore done for me or rhen like me?\\nThey have conquered countries of which I do\\nnot enjoy an acre, or they have gained laurels\\nof which I do not inherit a leaf, or they have\\nfurnished examples of hair-brained prowess,\\nwhich I have neither the opportunity nor the\\ninclination to follow. But, old Jack Falstaff!\\nkind Jack Falstaff! sweet Jack Falstaff has\\nenlarged the boundaries of human enjoyment\\nhe has added vast regions of wit and good-\\nhumor, in which the poorest man may revel,\\nand has bequeathed a never-failing inheritance\\nof jolly laughter, to make mankind merrier\\nand better to the latest posterity.\\nA thought suddenly struck me. I will\\nmake a pilgrimage to Eastcheap, said I, clos-\\ning the book, and see if the old Boar s Head", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 167\\nTavern still exists. Who knows but I may\\nlight upon some legendary traces of Dame\\nQuickly and her guests? At any rate, there\\nwill be a kindred pleasure in treading the halls\\nonce vocal with their mirth to that the toper\\nenjoys in smelling to the empty cask, once filled\\nwith generous wine.\\nThe resolution was no sooner formed than\\nput in execution. I forbear to treat of the\\nvarious adventures and wonders I encountered\\nin my travels of the haunted regions of Cock\\nLane; of the faded glories of Little Britain\\nand the parts adjacent what perils I ran in\\nCateaton Street and Old Jewry of the re-\\nnowned Guildhall and its two stunted giants,\\nthe pride and wonder of the city and the ter-\\nror of all unlucky urchins; and how I visited\\nLondon Stone, and struck my staff upon it in\\nimitation of that arch-rebel Jack Cade.\\nLet it suffice to say, that I at length arrived\\nin merry Eastcheap, that ancient region of wit\\nand wassail, where the very names of the\\nstreets relished of good cheer, as Pudding\\nLane bears testimony even at the present day.\\nFor East cheap, says old Stow, was always\\nfamous for its convivial doings. The cookes\\ncried hot ribbes of beef roasted, pies well\\nbaked, and other victuals; there was clatter-\\ning of pewter pots, harpe, pipe, and sawtrie.\\nAlas how sadly is the scene changed since the\\nroaring days of Falstaff and old Stow The\\nmadcap roisterer has given place to the plod-\\nding tradesman the clattering of pots and the\\nSound of harpe and sawtrie, to the din of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "168 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ncarts and the accurst dinging of the dustman s\\nbell; and no song is heard, save, haply, the\\nstrain of some syren from Billingsgate, chant-\\ning the eulogy of deceased mackerel.\\nI sought in vain, for the ancient abode of\\nDame Quickly. The only relict of it is a boar s\\nhead, carved in relief in stone, which formerly\\nserved as the sign, but at present is built into\\nthe parting line of two houses which stand on\\nthe site of the renowned old tavern.\\nFor the history of this little abode of good\\nfellowship I was referred to a tallow-chandler s\\nwidow opposite, who had been born and\\nbrought up on the spot, and was looked up to\\nas the indisputable chronicler of the neighbor-\\nhood. I found her seated in a little back par-\\nlor, the window of which looked out upon a\\nyard about eight feet square laid out as a flow-\\ner garden, while a glass door opposite afforded\\na distant view of the street, through a vista of\\nsoap and tallow candles the two views, which\\ncomprised, in all probability, her prospects in\\nlife and the little world in which she had lived\\nand moved and had her being for the better\\npart of a century.\\nTo be versed in the history of Eastcheap,\\ngreat and little, from London Stone even unto\\nthe Monument, was doubtless, in her opinion,\\nto be acquainted with the history of the uni-\\nverse. Yet, with all this, she possessed the\\nsimplicity of true wisdom, and that liberal com-\\nmunicative disposition which I have generally\\nremarked in intelligent old ladies knowing m\\nthe concerns of their neighborhood.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 169\\nHer information, however, did not extend\\nfar back into antiquity. She could throw no\\nlight upon the history of the Boar s Head from\\nthe time that Dame Quickly espoused the val-\\nia.nt Pistol until the great fire of London when\\nit was unfortunately burnt down. It was soon\\nrebuilt, and continued to flourish under the old\\nname and sign, until a dying landlord, struck\\nwith remorse for double scores, bad measures,\\nand other iniquities which are incident to the\\nsinful race of publicans, endeavored to make\\nhis peace with Heaven by bequeathing the\\ntavern to St. Michael s Church, Crooked Lane,\\ntoward the supporting of a chaplain. For some\\ntime the vestry meetings were regularly held\\nthere, but it was observed that the old Boar\\nnever held up his head under church govern-\\nment. He gradually declined, and finally gave\\nhis last gasp about thirty years since. The\\ntavern was then turned into shops; but she in-\\nformed me that a picture of it was still pre-\\nserved in St. Michael s Church which stood\\njust in the rear. To get a sight of this picture\\nwas now my determination; so, having in-\\nformed myself of the abode of the sexton, I\\ntook my leave of the venerable chronicler of\\nEastcheap, my visit having doubtless raised\\ngreatly her opinion of her legendary lore and\\nfurnished an important incident in the history\\nof her life.\\nIt cost me some difficulty and much curious\\ninquiry to ferret out the humble hanger-on to\\nthe church. I had to explore Crooked Lane\\nand divers little alleys and elbows and dark\\n12 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "170 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\npassages with which this old city is perforated\\nlike an ancient cheese, or a worm-eaten chest of\\ndrawers. At length I traced him to a corner\\nof a small court surrounded by lofty houses,\\nwhere the inhabitants enjoy about as much of\\nthe face of heaven as a community of frogs at\\nthe bottom of a well.\\nThe sexton was a meek, acquiescing little\\nman, of a bowing, lowly habit, yet he had a\\npleasant twinkling in his eye, and if encour-\\naged, would now and then hazard a small pleas-\\nantry, such as a man of his low estate might\\nventure to make in the company of high\\nchurch wardens and other mighty men of the\\nearth. I found him in company with the dep-\\nuty organist, seated apart, like Milton s angels,\\ndiscoursing, no doubt, on high doctrinal points,\\nand settling the affairs of the church over a\\nfriendly pot of ale for the lower classes of\\nEnglish seldom deliberate on any weighty\\nmatter without the assistance of a cool tankard\\nto clear their understandings. I arrived at\\nthe moment when they had finished their ale\\nand their argument, and were about to repair\\nto the church to put it in order; so, having\\nmade known my wishes, I received their gra-\\ncious permission to accompany them.\\nThe church of St. Michael s, Crooked Lane,\\nstanding a short distance from Billingsgate,\\nis enriched with the tombs of manj^ fishmong-\\ners of renown and as every profession has its\\ngalaxy of glory and its constellation of great\\nmen, I presume the monument of a mighty\\nfishmonger of the olden time is regarded with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 171\\nas much reverence by succeeding generations\\nof the craft, as poets feel on contemplating the\\ntomb of Virgil or soldiers the monument of a\\nMarlborough or Turenne.\\nI cannot but turn aside, while thus speaking\\nof illustrious men, to observe that St. Mich-\\nael s Crooked Lane, contains also the ashes of\\nthat doughty champion, William Walworth,\\nKnight, who so manfully clove down the\\nsturdy wight, Wat Tyler, in Smithfield\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a hero\\nworthy of honorable blazon, as almost the only\\nLord Mayor on record famous for deeds of\\narms, the sovereigns of Cockney being gener-\\nally renowned as the most pacific of all poten-\\ntates.*\\n*The following was the ancient inscription on the\\nmonument of this worthy, which, unhappily, was de-\\nstroyed in the great conflagration.\\nHereunder lyth a man of Fame,\\nWilliam Walworth callyd by name\\nFishmonger he was in lyfftime here,\\nAnd twise Lord Maior, as in books appere\\nWho, with courage stout and manly myght,\\nSlew Jack Straw in Kyng Richard s sight.\\nFor which act done, and trew entent.\\nThe Kyng made him knyght incontinent\\nAnd gave him armes, as here you see,\\nTo declare his fact and chivaldrie,\\nHe left this lyff the yere of our Gk)d\\nThirteen hundred fourscore and three odd.\\nAn error in the foregoing inscription has been cor-\\nrected by the venerable Stow. Whereas, saith he. it\\nhath bee^n far spread abroad by vulgar opinion, that the\\nrebel smitten down so manfully by Sir William Wal-\\nworth, the then worthy Lord Maior, was named Jack\\nStraw, and not Wat Tyler, I thought good to reconcile", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "17-2 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nAdjoining the church, in a small cemetery,\\nimmediately under the back window of what\\nwas once the Boar s Head, stands the tomb-\\nstone of Robert Preston, whilom drawer at the\\ntavern. It is now nearly a century since this\\ntrusty drawer of good liquor closed his hus-\\ntling career and was thus quietly deposited\\nwithin call of his customers. As I was clear-\\ning away the weeds from his epitaph the little\\nsexton drew me on one side with a mysterious\\nair, and informed me in a low voice that once\\nupon a time, on a dark wintry night, when\\nthe wind was unruly, howling, and whistling,\\nbanging about doors and windows, and twirl-\\ning weather-cocks, so that the living were\\nfrightened out of their beds, and even the dead\\ncould not sleep quietly in their graves, the\\nghost of honest Preston, which happened to be\\nairing itself in the churchyard, was attracted\\nby the well-known call of Waiter! frorri the\\nBoar s Head, and made its sudden appearance\\nin the midst of a roaring club, just as the par-\\nish clerk was singing a stave from the mirre\\ngarland of Captain Death; to the discomfiture\\nof sundry train-band captains and the conver-\\nsion of an infidel attorney, who became a zeal-\\nous Christian on the spot, and was never\\nknown to twist the truth afterwards, except\\nin the way of business.\\nthis rash-conceived doubt by such testimony as I find in\\nancient and good records. The principal leaders, or\\ncaptains of the commons, were Wat Tyler, as the first\\nman; the second was John, or Jack Straw, etc., etc.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSlew s London.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 173\\nI beg it may be remembered, that I do not\\npledge myself for the authenticity of this an-\\necdote, though it is well known that the\\nchurchyards and by-corners of this old metrop-\\nolis are very much infested with perturbed\\nspirits; and every one must have heard of the\\nCock Lane ghost, and the apparition that\\nguards the regalia in the Tower which has\\nfrightened so many bold sentinels almost out\\nof their wits.\\nBe all this as it may, this Robert Preston\\nseems to have been a worthy successor to the\\nnimble-tongued Francis, who attended upon\\nthe revels of Prince Hal; to have been equally\\nprompt with his Anon, anon, sir; and to\\nhave transcended his predecessor in honesty;\\nfor Falstaff, the veracity of whose taste no\\nman will venture to impeach, flatly accuses\\nFrancis of putting lime in his sack, whereas\\nhonest Preston s epitaph lauds him for the\\nsobriety of his conduct, the soundness of his\\nwine, and the fairness of his measure. The\\n*As this inscription is rife with excel] ent morality, I\\ntranscribe it for the admonition of delinquent tapsters.\\nIt is, no doubt, the production of some choice spirit\\nwho once frequented the Boar s Head.\\nBacchus, to give the toping world surprise,\\nProduced one sober son, and here he lies,\\nThough rear d among full hogsheads, he def3 d\\nThe charms of wine, and every one beside.\\nO reader, if to justice thou rt inclined,\\nKeep honest Preston daily in thy mind.\\nHe drew good wine, took care to fill his pots.\\nHad sundry virtues that excused his faults,\\nYou that on Bacchus have the like dependence,\\nPray copy Bob in measure and attendance.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "174 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nworthy dignitaries of the church, however, did\\nnot appear much captivated by the sober vir-\\ntues of the tapster; the deputy organist, who\\nhad a moist look out of the eye, made some\\nshrewd remark on the abstemiousness of a man\\nbrought up among full hogsheads, and the lit-\\ntle sexton corroborated his opinion by a signifi-\\ncant wink and a dubious shake of the head.\\nThus far my researches, though they threw\\nmuch light on the history of tapsters, fish-\\nmongers, and Lord Mayors, yet disappointed\\nme in the great object of my quest, the picture\\nof the Boar s Head Tavern. No such paint-\\ning was to be found in the church of St. Mich-\\nael s. Marry and amen, said I, here end-\\neth my research! So I was giving the mat-\\nter up, with the air of a baffled antiquary,\\nwhen my friend the sexton, perceiving me\\nto be curious in everything relative to the old\\ntavern, offered to show me the choice vessels\\nof the vestry, which had been handed down\\nfrom remote times when the parish meetings\\nwere held at the Boar s Head. These were\\ndeposited in the parish club room, which had\\nbeen transferred, on the decline of the ancient\\nestablishment, to a tavern in the neighbor-\\nhood.\\nA few steps brought us to the house, which\\nstands No. 12 Miles Lane, bearing the title of\\nThe Mason s Arms, and is kept by Master\\nEdward Honeyball, the bully- rock of the\\nestablishment. It is one of those little taverns\\nwhich abound in the heart of the city and form\\nthe center of gossip and intelligence of the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 175\\nneighborhood. We entered the bar-room,\\nwhich was narrow and darkling, for in these\\nclose lanes bnt few rays of reflected light are\\nenabled to struggle down to the inhabitants,\\nwhose broad day is at best but a tolerable twi-\\nlight. The room was partitioned into boxes,\\neach containing a table spread with a clean\\nwhite cloth, ready for dinner. This showed\\nthat the guests were of the good old stamp,\\nand divided their day equally, for it was but\\njust one o clock. At the lower end of the\\nroom was a clear coal fire, before which a\\nbreast of lamb was roasting. A row of bright\\nbrass candlesticks and pewter mugs glistened\\nalong the mantelpiece, and an old-fashioned\\nclock ticked in one corner. There was some-\\nthing primitive in this medley of kitchen, par-\\nlor, and hall that carried me back to earlier\\ntimes, and pleased me. The place, indeed,\\nwas humble, but everything had that look of\\norder and neatness which bespeaks the super-\\nintendence of a notable English housewife. A\\ngroup of amphibious-looking beings, who\\nmight be either fishermen or sailors, were re-\\ngaling themselves in one of the boxes. As I\\nwas a visitor of rather higher pretensions, I\\nwas ushered into a little misshapen back room,\\nhaving at least nine corners. It was lighted by\\na sky-light, furnished with antiquated leathern\\nchairs, and ornamented with the portrait of a\\nfat pig. It was evidently appropriated to par-\\nticular customers, and I found a shabby gentle-\\nman in a red nose and oil-cloth hat seated in", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "176 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\none corner meditating on a half-empty pot of\\nporter.\\nThe old sexton had taken the landlady aside,\\nand with an air of profound importance im-\\nparted to her my errand. Dame Honeyball\\nwas a likely, plump, bustling little woman,\\nand no bad substitute for that paragon of host-\\nesses. Dame Quickly. She seemed delighted\\nwith an opportunity to oblige, and, hurrying\\nupstairs to the archives of her house, where\\nthe precious vessels of the parish club were\\ndeposited she returned, smiling and courtesy-\\ning, with them in her hands.\\nThe first she presented me was a japanned\\niron tobacco-box of gigantic size, out of which,\\nI was told, the vestry had smoked at their\\nstated meetings since time immemorial, and\\nwhich was never suffered to be profaned by\\nvulgar hands, or used on common occasions.\\nI received it with becoming reverence, but\\nwhat was my delight at beholding on its\\ncover the indentical painting of which I was\\nin quest! There was displayed the outside of\\nthe Boar s Head Tavern, and before the door\\nwas to be seen the whole convivial group at\\ntable, in. full revel, pictured with that wonder-\\nful fidelity and force with which the portraits\\nof renowned generals and commodores are\\nillustrated on tobacco-boxes, for the benefit of\\nposterity. Lest, however, there should be\\nany mistake, the cunning limner had warily\\ninscribed the names of Prince Hal and Falstaff\\non the bottoms of their chairs.\\nOn the inside of the cover was an inscrip-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 177\\ntion, nearly obliterated, recording that this\\nbox was the gift of Sir Richard Gore, for\\nthe use of the vestry meetings at the Boar s\\nHead Tavern, and that it was repaired and\\nbeautified by his successor, Mr. John Packard,\\n1767. Such is a faithful description of this\\naugust and venerable relic, and I question\\nwhether the learned Scriblerius contemplated\\nhis Roman shield, or the Knights of the\\nRound Table the long-sought San-greal, with\\nmore exultation.\\nWhile I was meditating on it with enrap-\\ntured gaze. Dame Honeyball, who was highly\\ngratified by the interest it excited, put in my\\nhands a drinking-cup or goblet which also be-\\nlonged to the vestry, and was descended from\\nthe old Boar s Head. It bore the inscription\\nof having been the gift of Francis Wythers,\\nKnight, and was held, she told me, in exceed-\\ning great value, being considered very\\nantyke. This last opinion was strength-\\nened by the shabby gentleman with the red\\nnose and oil-cloth hat, and whom I\\nstrongly suspected of being a lineal descendant\\nfrom the valiant Bardolph. He suddenly\\naroused from his meditation on the pot of por-\\nter, and casting a knowing look at the goblet,\\nexclaimed, Ay, ay! the head don t ache now\\nthat made that there article.\\nThe great importance attached to this me-\\nmento of ancient revelry by modern church-\\nwardens, at first puzzled me but there is noth-\\ning sharpens the apprehension so much as anti-\\nquarian research for I immediately perceived", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "178 THE SKETCH ROOK.\\nthat this could be no other than the identical\\nparcel- gilt goblet, on which Falstaff made\\nhis loving but faithless vow to Dame Quickly,\\nand which would, of course, be treasured up\\nwith care among the regalia of her domains,\\nas a testimony of that solemn contract.*\\nMine hostess, indeed, gave me a long his-\\ntory how the goblet had been handed down\\nfrom generation to generation. She also en-\\ntertained me with many particulars concerning\\nthe worthy vestrymen who had seated them-\\nselves thus quietly on the stools of the ancient\\nroisterers of Eastcheap, and, like so many\\ncommentators, utter clouds of smoke in honor\\nof Shakespeare. These I forbear to relate,\\nlest my readers should not be as curious in\\nthese matters as myself. Suffice it to say, the\\nneighbors, one and all, about Eastcheap, be-\\nlieve that Falstaff and his merry crew actually\\nlived and reveled there. Nay, there are sev-\\neral legendary anecdotes concerning him still\\nextant among the oldest frequenters of the\\nMason s Arms, which they give as transmitted\\ndown from their forefathers; and Mr. M Kash,\\nan Irish hair-dresser, whose shop stands on\\nthe site of the old Boar s Head, has several\\ndry jokes of Fat Jack s, not laid down in the\\nThou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet,\\nsitting in my Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by\\na sea-coal fire, on Wednesday, in Whitsun-week, when\\nthe prince broke thy head for likening his father to a\\nsinging man at Windsor thou didst swear to me then,\\nas i was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make\\nme mv lady, thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Henry j\\nIV.. Part 2.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 179\\nbooks, with which he makes his customers\\nready to die of laughter.\\nI now turned to my friend the sexton to\\nmake some further inquiries, but I found him\\nsunk in pensive meditation. His head had\\ndeclined a little on one side; a deep sigh\\nheaved from the very bottom of his stomach,\\nand, though I could not see a tear trembling\\nin his eye, yet a moisture was evidently steal-\\ning from a corner of his mouth. I followed\\nthe direction of his eye through the door which\\nstood open, and found it fixed wistfully on the\\nsavory breast of lamb, roasting in dripping\\nrichness before the fire.\\nI now called to mind that in the eagerness\\nof my recondite investigation, I was keeping\\nthe poor man from his dinner. My bowels\\nyearned with sympathy, and putting in his\\nhand a small token of my gratitude and good-\\nness, I departed with a hearty benediction on\\nhim, Dame Honey ball, and the parish club of\\nCrooked Lane not forgetting my shabby,\\nbut sententious friend, in the oil- cloth hat and\\ncopper nose.\\nThus have I given a tedious brief account\\nof this interesting research, for which, if it\\nprove too short and unsatisfactory, I can only\\nplead my inexperience in this branch of litera-\\nture, so deservedly popular at the present day.\\nI am aware that a more skilful illustrator of\\nthe immortal bard would have swelled the\\nmaterials I have touched upon to a good mer-\\nchantable bulk, comprising the biographies of\\nWilliam Walworth, Jack Straw, and Robert", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "180 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nPreston; some notice of the eminent fish-\\nmongers of St. Michael s; the history of East-\\ncheap, great and little; private anecdotes of\\nDame Honeyball and her pretty daughter,\\nwhom I have not even mentioned; to say noth-\\ning of a damsel tending the breast of lamb\\n(and whom, by the way, I remarked to be a\\ncomely lass with a neat foot and ankle) the\\nwhole enlivened by the riots of Wat Tyler, and\\nilluminated by the great fire of London.\\nAll this I leave, as a rich mine, to be worked\\nby future commentators, nor do I despair of\\nseeing the tobacco-box, and the parcel-gilt\\ngoblet which I have thus brought to light\\nthe subject of future engravings, and almost\\nas fruitful of voluminous dissertations and dis-\\nputes as the shield of Achilles or the far-famed\\nPortland Vase.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 181\\nTHE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE.\\nA COLLOQUY IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.\\nI know that all beneath the moon decays.\\nAnd what by mortals in this world is brought,\\nIn time s g^eat periods shall return to nought.\\nI know that all the muses heavenly rays,\\nWith toil of sprite which are so dearly bought,\\nAs idle sounds, of few or none are sought\\nThat there is nothing lighter than mere praise.\\nDrummond of Hawthornden.\\nThere are certain lialf-dreaming moods of\\nmind in which we naturally steal away from\\nnoise and glare, and seek some quiet haunt\\nwhere we may indulge our reveries and build\\nour air castles undisturbed. In such a mood\\nI was loitering about the old gray cloisters of\\nWestminster Abbey, enjoying that luxury of\\nwandering thought which one is apt to dignify\\nwith the name of reflection, when suddenly an\\nirruption of madcap boys from Westminster\\nschool, playing at football, broke in upon the\\nmonastic stillness of the place, making the\\nvaulted passages and mouldering tombs echo\\nwith their merriment. I sought to take refuge\\nfrom their noise by penetrating still deeper into\\nthe solitudes of the pile, and applied to one\\nof the vergers for admission to the library.\\nHe conducted m.e through a portal rich with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "182 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthe crumbling sculpture of former ages, which\\nopened upon a gloomy passage leading to the\\nchapter-house and the chamber in which\\nDoomsday Book is deposited. Just within the\\npassage is a small door on the left. To this\\nthe verger applied a key; it was double\\nlocked, and opened with some difficulty, as if\\nseldom used. We now ascended a dark narrow\\nstaircase, and, passing through a second door,\\nentered the library.\\nI found myself in a lofty antique hall, the\\nroof supported by massive joists of old English\\noak. It was soberly lighted by a row of\\nGothic windows at a considerable height from\\nthe floor, and which apparently opened upon\\nthe roofs of the cloisters. An ancient picture\\nof some reverend dignitary of the Church in\\nhis robes hung over the fireplace. Around the\\nhall and in a small gallery were the books,\\narranged in carved oaken cases. They con-\\nsisted principally of old polemical writers, and\\nwere much more worn by time than use. In\\nthe center of the library was a solitary table\\nwith two or three books on it, an inkstand\\nwithout ink, and; a few pens parched by long\\ndisuse. The place seemed fitted for quiet\\nstudy and profound meditation. It was\\nburied deep among the massive walls of the\\nabbey and shut up from the tumult of the\\nworld. I could only hear now and then the\\nshouts of the school-boys faintly swelling from\\nthe cloisters, and the sound of a bell tolling\\nfor prayers echoing soberly along the roofs of\\nthe abbey. By degrees the shouts of merri-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 183\\nment grew fainter and fainter, and at length\\ndied away; the bell ceased to toll, and a pro-\\nfound silence reigned through the dusky hall.\\nI had taken down a little thick quarto, curi-\\nously bound in parchment, with brass clasps,\\nand seated myself at the table in a venerable\\nelbow-chair. Instead of reading, however, I\\nwas beguiled by the solemn monastic air and\\nlifeless quiet of the place, into a train of mus-\\ning. As I looked around upon the old vol-\\numes in their mouldering covers, thus ranged\\non the shelves and apparently never disturbed\\nin their repose, I could not but consider the\\nlibrary a kind of literary catacomb, where\\nauthors, like mummies, are piously entombed\\nand left to blacken and moulder in dusty obli-\\nvion.\\nHow much, thought I, has each of these vol-\\numes, now thrust aside with such indifference,\\ncost some aching head! how many weary\\ndays how many sleepless nights How have\\ntheir authors buried themselves in the solitude\\nof cells and cloisters, shut themselves up from\\nthe face of man, and the still more blessed\\nface of Nature; and devoted themselves to\\npainful research and intense reflection! And\\nall for what? To occupy an inch of dusty\\nshelf to have the titles of their works read\\nnow and then in a future age by some drowsy\\nchurchman or casual straggler like myself, and\\nin another age to be lost even to remem-\\nbrance. Such is the amount of this boasted\\nimmortality. A mere temporary rumor, a\\nlocal sound like the tone of that bell which", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "184 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhas tolled among these towers, filling the ear\\nfor a moment, lingering transiently in echo,\\nand then passing away, like a thing that was\\nnot!\\nWhile I sat half-murmuring, half -meditat-\\ning, these unprofitable speculations with my\\nhead resting on my hand, I was thrumming\\nwith the other hand upon the quarto, until I\\naccidentally loosened the clasps when, to my\\nutter astonishment, the little book gave two\\nor three yawns, like one awaking from a deep\\nsleep, then a husky hem, and at length began\\nto talk. At first its voice was very hoarse and\\nbroken, being much troubled by a cobweb\\nwhich some studious spider had woven across\\nit, and having probably contracted a cold from\\nlong exposure to the chills and damps of the\\nabbey. In a short time, however, it became\\nmore distinct, and I soon found it an exceed-\\ningly fluent, conversable little tome. Its lan-\\nguage, to be sure, was rather quaint and obso-\\nlete, and its pronunciation what, in the present\\nday, would be deemed barbarous but I shall\\nendeavor, as far as I am able, to render it in\\nmodern parlance.\\nIt began with railings about the neglect of\\nthe world, about merit being suffered to lan-\\nguish in obscurity, and other such common-\\nplace topics of literary repining, and com-\\nplained bitterly that it had not been opened\\nfor more than two centuries that the dean\\nonly looked now and then into the library,\\nsometimes took down a volume or two, trifled\\nwith them for a few moments, and then re-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 185\\nturned them to theii shelves. What a plague\\ndo they mean? said the little quarto, which\\nI began to perceive was somewhat choleric\\nwhat a plague do they mean by keeping sev-\\neral thousand volumes of us shut up here, and\\nwatched by a set of old vergers, like so many\\nbeauties in a harem, merely to be looked at\\nnow and then by the dean? Books were writ-\\nten to give pleasure and to be enjoyed; and I\\nwould have a rule passed that the dean should\\npay each of us a visit at least once a year or,\\nif he is not quite equal to the task, let them\\nonce in a while turn loose the whole school of\\nWestminster among us, that at any rate we\\nmay now and then have an airing.\\nSoftly, my worthy friend, replied I; you\\nare not aware how much better you are off\\nthan most books of your generation. By\\nbeing stored away in this ancient library you\\nare like the treasured remains of those saints\\nand monarchs which lie enshrined in the\\nadjoining chapels, while the remains of their\\ncontemporary mortals, left to the ordinary\\ncourse of Nature, have long since returned to\\ndust.\\nSir, said the little tome, ruffling his leaves\\nand looking big, I was written for all the\\nworld, not for the bookworms of an abbey. I\\nwas intended to circulate from hand to hand,\\nlike other great contemporary works but here\\nhave I been clasped up for more than two cen-\\nturies, and might have silently fallen a prey to\\nthese worms that are playing the very ven-\\ngeance with my intestines if you had not by", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "186 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nchance given me an opporttinity of uttering a\\nfew last words before I go to pieces.\\nMy good friend, rejoined I, had you been\\nleft to the circulation of which you speak, you\\nwould long ere this have been no more. To\\njudge from your physiognomy, you are now\\nwell stricken in years: very few of your con-\\ntemporaries can be at present in existence, and\\nthose few owe their longevity to being immured\\nlike yourself in old libraries which, suffer me\\nto add, instead of likening to harems, you\\nmight: more properly and gratefully have com-\\npared to those infirmaries attached to religious\\nestablishments for the benefit of the old and\\ndecrepit, and where, by quiet fostering and no\\nemployment, they often endure to an amaz-\\niiigly good-for-nothing old age. You talk of\\nyour contemporaries as if in circulation.\\nWhere do we meet with their works? What\\ndo we hear of Robert Grosteste of Lincoln?\\nNo one could have toiled harder than he for\\nimmortality. He is said to have written nearly\\ntwo hundred volumes. He built, as it were, a\\npyramid of books to perpetuate his name but,\\nalas! the pyramid has long since fallen, and\\nonly a few fragments are scattered in various\\nlibraries, where they are scarcely disturbed\\neven by the antiquarian. What do we hear of\\nGiraldus Cambrensis, the historian, antiquary,\\nphilosopher, theologian, and poet? He declined\\ntwo bishoprics that he might shut himself up\\nand write for posterity; but posterity never\\ninquires after his labors. What of Henry of\\nHuntingdon, who, besides a learned history of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 187\\nEngland, wrote a treatise on the contempt of\\nthe world, which the world has revenged by\\niforgetting him? What is quoted of Joseph of\\nExeter, styled the miracle of his age in classical\\ncomposition? Of his three great heroic poems,\\none is lost forever, excepting a mere fragment;\\nthe others are known only to a few of the curi-\\nous in literature and as to his love verses and\\nepigrams, they have entirely disappeared.\\nWhat is in current use of John Wallis the\\nFranciscan, who acquired the name of the tree\\nof life? Of William of Malmsbury of Simeon\\nof Durham of Benedict of Peterborough of\\nJohn Hanvill of St. Albans\u00e2\u0080\u0094 of\\nPrithee, friend, cried the quarto in a testy\\ntone, how old do you think me? You are\\ntalking of authors that lived long before my\\ntime, and wrote either in Latin or French, so\\nthat they in a manner expatriated themselves,\\nand deserved to be forgotten;* but I, sir, was\\nushered into the world from the press of the\\nrenowned Wynkyn de Worde. I was written in\\nmy own native tongue, at a time when the\\nlanguage. had become fixed; and indeed I was\\nconsidered a model of pure and elegant English.\\n(I should observe that these remarks were\\ncouched in such intolerably antiquated terms,\\nthat I have had infinite diifeculty in rendering\\nthem into modern phraseology.)\\nIn Latin and French hath many soueraine wittes\\nhad great delyte to endite, and have many noble thinges\\nfulfilde, but cartes there ben some that speaken their\\npoisye in French, of, which speche the Frenchmen have\\nas good a fantasye as we have in hearying of French-\\nmen s Englishe. Chaucer s Testament of Love.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "188 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nI cry you mercy, said I, **for mistaking\\nyour age but it matters little almost all the\\nwriters of your time have likewise passed into\\nforgetfulness, and De Worde s publications are\\nmere literary rarities among book-collectors.\\nThe purity and stability of language, too, on\\nwhich you found your claims to perpetuity,\\nhave been the fallacious dependence of authors\\nof every age, even back to the times of the\\nworthy Robert of Gloucester, who wrote his his-\\ntory in rhymes of mongrel Saxon. Even now\\nmany talk of Spenser s well of pure English\\nunde filed, as if the language ever sprang from*\\na well or fountain-head, and was not rather a\\nmere confluence of various tongues perpetually\\nsubject to changes and intermixtures. It is\\nthis which has made English literature so\\nextremely mutable, and the reputation built\\nupon it so fleeting. Unless thought can be\\ncommitted to something more permanent and\\nunchangeable than such a medium, even\\nthought must share the fate of everything else,\\nand fall into decay. This should serve as a\\ncheck upon the vanity and exultation of the\\n*Holinshed, in his Chronicle, observes, Afterwards,\\nalso, by diligent travell of Geffry Chaucer and John\\nGowre, in the time of Richard the Second, and after\\nthem of John Scogan and John Lydgate, monke of\\nBerre, our said toong was brought to an excellent passe,\\nnotwithstanding that it never came unto the type of per-\\nfection until the time of Queen Elizabeth, wherein John\\nJewell, Bishop of Saurm, John Fox, and sundrie learned\\nand excellent writers, have fully accomplished the orna-\\nture of the same to their great praise and immortal com-\\nmendation.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 189\\nmost popular writer. He finds the language in\\nwhich he has embarked his fame gradually-\\naltering and subject to the dilapidations of\\ntime and the caprice of fashion. He looks back\\nand beholds the early authors of his country,\\nonce the favorites of their day, supplanted by\\nmodern writers. A few short ages have\\ncovered them with obscurity, and their merits\\ncan only be relished by the quaint taste of the\\nbook-worm. And such, he anticipates, will\\nbe the fate of his own work, which, however,\\nit may be admired in its day and held up as a\\nmodel of purity, will in the course of years\\ngrow antiquated and obsolete, until it shall\\nbecome almost as unintelligible in its native\\nland as an Egyptian obelisk or one of those\\nRunic inscriptions said to exist in the deserts\\nof Tartary. I declare, added I, with some\\nemotion, when I contemplate a modern\\nlibrary, filled with new works in all the bravery\\nof rich gilding and binding, I feel disposed to\\nsit down and weep, like the good Xerxes, when\\nhe surveyed his army, pranked out in all the\\nsplendor of military array, and reflected that\\nin one hundred years not one of them would be\\nin existence.\\nAh, said the little quarto, with a heavy\\nsigh, I see how it is: these modern scribblers\\nhave superseded all the good old authors. I\\nsuppose nothing is read nowadays but Sir\\nPhilip Sidney s Arcadia, Sackville s stately\\nplays and Mirror for Magistrates, or the fine-\\nspun euphuisms af the unparalleled John\\nLyly.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "190 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nThere you are again mistaken, said I;\\nthe writers whom you suppose in vogue,\\nbecause they happened to be so when you were\\nlast in circulation, have lone since had their\\nday. Sir Philip Sidney s Arcadia, the immor-\\ntality of which was so fondly predicted by\\nhis admirers,* and which, in truth, was full of\\nnoble thoughts, delicate images, and graceful\\nturns of language, is now scarcely ever men-\\ntioned. Sackville has strutted into obscurity\\nand even Lyly, though his writings were once\\nthe delight of a court, and apparently perpet-\\nuated by a proverb, is now scarcely known\\neven by name. A whole crowd of authors who\\nwrote and wrangled at the time, have likewise\\ngone down with all their writings and their\\ncontroversies. Wave after wave of succeeding\\nliterature has rulled over them, until they are\\nburied so deep, that it is only now and then\\nthat some industrious diver after fragments of\\nantiquity brings up a specimen for the grati-\\nfication of the curious.\\nFor my part, I continued, I consider this\\nmutability of language a wise precaution of\\nProvidence for the benefit of the world at\\nlarge, and of authors in particular. To reason\\nLive ever sweete booke; the simple image of his\\ngentle witt, and the golden pillar of his noble courage;\\nand ever notify unto the world that thy writer was the\\nsecretary of eloquence, the breath of the muses, the\\nhoney bee of the daintyest flowers of witt and arte, the\\npith of morale and intellectual virtues, the arme of Bel-\\nlona in the field, the tongue of Suada in the chamber,\\nthe spirite of Practise in esse, and the paragon of excel-\\nlence in print. Harvey Pierce s Supererogation.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 191\\nfrom analogy, we daily behold the varied and\\nbeautiful tribes of vegetables springing up,\\nflourishing, adorning the fields for a short time,\\nand then fading into dust, to make way for\\ntheir successors. Were not this the case, the\\nfecundity of nature would be a grievance\\ninstead of a blessing. The earth would groan\\nwith rank and excessive vegetation, and its sur-\\nface become a tangled wilderness. In like\\nmanner, the works of genius and learning\\ndecline and make way for subsequent produc-\\ntions. Language gradually varies, and with it\\nfade away the writings of authors who have\\nflourished their allotted time; otherwise the\\ncreative powers of genius would overstock the\\nworld, and the mind would be completely\\nbewildered in the endless mazes of literature.\\nFormerly there were some restraints on this\\nexcessive multiplication. Works had to be\\ntranscribed by hand, which was a slow and\\nlaborious operation; they were written either\\non parchment, which was expensive, so that\\none work was often erased to make way for\\nanother; or on papyrus, which was fragile\\nand extremely perishable. Authorship was a\\nlimited and unprofitable craft, pursued chiefly\\nby monks in the leisure and solitude of their\\ncloisters. The accumulation of manuscripts\\nwas slow and costly, and confined almost\\nentirely to monasteries. To these circum-\\nstances it may, in some measure, be owing\\nthat we have not been inundated by the intel-\\nlect of antiquity that the fountains of thought\\nhave not been broken up, and modern genius", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "192 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ndrowned in the deluge. But the inventions of\\npaper and the press have put an end to all\\nthese restraints. They have made every one a\\nwriter, and enabled every mind to pour itself\\ninto print, and diffuse itself over the whole\\nintellectual world. The consequences are\\nalarming. The stream of literature has swollen\\ninto a torrent augmented into a river ex-\\npanded into a sea. A few centuries since five\\nor six hundred manuscripts constituted a great\\nlibrary but what would you say to libraries,\\nsuch as actually exist, containing three or four\\nhundred thousand volumes legions of authors\\nat the same time busy; and the press going on\\nwith fearfully increasing activity, to double\\nand quadruple the number? Unless some\\nunforseen mortality should break out among\\nthe progeny of the Muse, now that she has\\nbecome so prolific, I tremble for posterity. I\\nfear the mere fluctuation of language will not\\nbe sufficient. Criticism may do much; it\\nincreases with the increase of literature, and\\nresembles one of those salutary checks on pop-\\nulation spoken of by economists. All possible\\nencouragement, therefore, should be given to\\nthe growth of critics, good or bad. But I fear\\nall will be in vain; let criticism do what it\\nmay, writers will write, printers will print, and\\nthe world will inevitably be overstocked with\\ngood books. It will soon be the employment\\nof a lifetime merel}^ to learn their names.\\nMany a man of passable information at the\\npresent day reads scarcely anything but\\nreviews, and before long a man of erudition", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 193\\nwill be little better than a mere walking cata-\\nlogue.\\nMy very good sir, said the little quarto,\\nyawning most drearily in my face, excuse my\\ninterrupting you, but I perceive you are rather\\ngiven to prose. I would ask the fate of an\\nauthor who was making some noise just as I\\nleft the world. His reputation, however, was\\nconsidered quite temporary. The learned\\nshook their heads at him, for he was a poor,\\nhalf-educated varlet, that knew little of Latin,\\nand nothing of Greek, and had been obliged to\\nrun the country for deer-stealing. I think his\\nname was Shakespeare. I presume he soon\\nsunk into oblivion.\\nOn the contrary, said I, it is owing to\\nthat very man that the literature of his period\\nhas experienced a duration beyond the ordi-\\nnary term of English literature. There rise\\nauthors now and then who seem proof against\\nthe mutability of language because they have\\nrooted themselves in the unchanging principles\\nof human nature. They are like gigantic trees\\nthat we sometimes see on the banks of a\\nstream, which by their vast and deep roots,\\npenetrating through the mere surface and lay-\\ning hold on the very foundations of the earth,\\npreserve the soil around them from being\\nswept away by the ever-flowing current, and\\nhold up many a neighboring plant, and per-\\nhaps worthless weed, to perpetuity. Such is\\nthe case with Shakespeare, whom we behold\\ndefying the encroachments of time, retaining\\nin modern use the language and literature of\\n13 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "194 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhis day, and giving duration to many ail indif-\\nferent author, merely from having flourished in\\nhis vicinity. But even he, I grieve to say, is\\ngradually assuming the tint of age, and his\\nwhole form is overrun by a profusion of com-\\nmentators, who, like clambering vines and\\ncreepers, almost bury the noble plant that\\nupholds them.\\nHere the little quarto began to heave his\\nsides and chuckle, until at length he broke out\\ninto a plethoric fit of laughter that had well-\\nnigh choked him by reason of his excessive\\ncorpulency. Mighty well! cried he, as soon\\nas he could recover breath, mighty well!\\nand so you would persuade me that the litera-\\nture of an age is to be perpetuated by a vaga-\\nbond deer-stealer! by a man without learning!\\nby a poet! forsooth a poet! And here he\\nwheezed forth another fit of laughter.\\nI confess that I felt somewhat nettled at this\\nrudeness, which, however, I pardoned on\\naccount of his having flourished in a less pol-\\nished age. I determined, nevertheless, not to\\ngive up my point.\\nYes, resumed I positively, a poet; for of\\nall writers he has the best chance for immor-\\ntality. Others may write from the head, but\\nhe writes from the heart, and the heart will\\nalways understand him. He is the faithful\\nportrayer of Nature, whose features are always\\nthe same and always interesting. Prose\\nwriters are voluminous and unwieldy; their\\npages crowded with commonplaces, and their\\nthoughts expanded into tediousness. But with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 195\\nthe true poet everything is terse, touching,\\nor brilliant. He gives the choicest thoughts\\nin the choicest language. He illustrates them\\nby everything that he sees most striking in\\nnature and art. He enriches them by pictures\\nof human life, such as it is passing before him.\\nHis writings, therefore, contain the spirit, the\\naroma, if I may use the phrase, of the age in\\nwhich he lives. They are caskets which\\nenclose within a small compass the wealth of\\nthe language its family jewels, which are thus\\ntransmitted in a portable form to posterity.\\nThe setting may occasionally be antiquated,\\nand require now and then to be renewed, as in\\nthe case of Chaucer; but the brilliancy and\\nintrinsic value of the gems continue unaltered.\\nCast a look back over the long reach of liter-\\nary history. What vast valleys of dulness,\\nfilled with monkish legends and academical\\ncontroversies What bogs of theological spec-\\nulations What dreary wastes of metaphysics\\nHere and there only do we behold the heaven-\\nillumined bards, elevated like beacons on their\\nwidely-separated heights, to transmit the pure\\nlight of poetical intelligence from age to\\nage.\\n*Throw earth and waters deepe,\\nThe pen by skill doth passe\\nAnd featly nyps the worldes abuse,\\nAnd shoes us in a glasse,\\nThe vertu and the vice\\nOf every wight alyve\\nThe honey comb that bee doth make\\nIs not so sweet in hyve,\\nAs are the golden leves", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "196 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nI was just about to launch forth into eulo-\\ngiums upon the poets of the day when the\\nsudden opening of the door caused me to turn\\nmy head. It was the verger, who came to\\ninform me that it was time to close the library.\\nI sought to have a parting word with the\\nquarto, but the worthy little tome was silent\\nthe clasps were closed and he looked perfectly\\nunconscious of all that had passed. I have\\nbeen to the library two or three times since,\\nand have endeavored to draw it into further\\nconversation, but in vain; and whether all\\nthis rambling colloquy actually took place,\\nor whether it was another of those odd day-\\ndreams to which I am subject, I have never,\\nto this moment, been able to discover.\\nThat drops from poet s head!\\nWhich doth surmount our common talke\\nAs farre as dross doth lead.\\nurchyard.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 197\\nRURAL FUNERALS.\\nHere s a few flowers but about midnight more\\nThe herbs that have on them cold dew o the night\\nAre strewings fitt st for graves\\nYou were as flowers now withered even so\\nThese herblets shall, which we upon you strow.\\nCymbeline.\\nAmong the beautiful and simple-hearted\\ncustoms of rural life which still linger in some\\nparts of England are those of strewing flowers\\nbefore the funerals and planting them at the\\ngraves of departed friends. These, it is said,\\nare the remains of some of the rites of the\\nprimitive Church; but they are of still higher\\nantiquity, having been observed among the\\nGreeks and Romans, and frequently mentioned\\nby their writers, and were no doubt the spon-\\ntaneous tributes of unlettered affection, origi-\\nnating long before art had tasked itself to\\nmodulate sorrow into song or story it on the\\nmonument. They are now only to be met\\nwith in the most distant and retired places of\\nthe kingdom, where fashion and innovation\\nhave not been able to throng in and trample\\nout all the curious and interesting traces of the\\nolden time.\\nIn Glamorganshire, we are told, the bed\\nwhereon the corpse lies is covered with flowers,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "198 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\na custom alluded to in one of the wild and\\nplaintive ditties of Ophelia:\\nWhite his shroud as the mountain snow,\\nLarded all with sweet flowers\\nWhich be-wept to the grave did go,\\nWith true love showers.\\nThere is also a most delicate and beautiful\\nrite observed in some of the remote villages\\nof the south at the funeral of a female who\\nhas died young and unmarried. A chaplet of\\nwhite flowers is borne before the corpse by a\\nyoung girl nearest in age, size, and resem-\\nblance, and is afterwards hung up in the church\\nover the accustomed seat of the deceased.\\nThese chaplets are sometimes made of white\\npaper, in imitation of flowers, and inside of\\nthem is generally a pair of white gloves. They\\nare intended as emblems of the purity of the\\ndeceased, and the crown of glory which she\\nhas received in heaven.\\nIn some parts of the country, also, the dead\\nare carried to the grave with the singing of\\npsalms and hymns a kind of triumph, to\\nshow, says Bourne, that they have finished\\ntheir course with joy, and are become con-\\nquerors. This, I am informed, is observed\\nin some of the northern counties, particularly\\nin Northumberland, and it has a pleasing,\\nthough melancholy effect to hear of a still\\nevening in some lonely country scene the\\nmournful melody of a funeral dirge swelling\\nfrom a distance, and to see the train slowly\\nmoving along the landscape.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 199\\nThus, thus, and thus, we compass round\\nThy harmless and unhaunted ground,\\nAnd as we sing thy dirge, we will.\\nThe daffodill\\nAnd other flowers lay upon\\nThe altar of our love, thy stone.\\nHerrick.\\nThere is also a solemn respect paid by the\\ntraveler to the passing funeral of these seques-\\ntered places; for such spectacles, occurring\\namong the quiet abodes of Nature, sink deep\\ninto the soul. As the mourning train ap-\\nproaches he pauses, uncovered, to let it go by\\nhe then follows silently in the rear; some-\\ntimes quite to the grave, at other times for a\\nfew hundred yards, and, having paid this\\ntribute of respect to the deceased, turns and\\nresumes his journey.\\nThe rich vein of melancholy which runs\\nthrough the English character, and gives it\\nsome of its most touching and ennobling\\ngraces, is finely evidenced in these pathetic\\ncustoms, and in the solicitude shown by the\\ncommon people for an honored and a peaceful\\ngrave. The humblest peasant, whatever may\\nbe his lowly lot while living, is anxious that\\nsome little respect may be paid to his remains.\\nSir Thomas Overbury, describing the faire\\nand happy milkmaid, observes, thus lives\\nshe, and all her care is, that she may die in\\nthe spring-time, to have store of flowers stucke\\nupon her winding-sheet. The poets, too,\\nwho always breathe the feeling of a nation,\\ncontinually advert to this fond solicitude about\\nthe grave. In The Maid s Tragedy, by", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "200 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nBeaumont and Fletcher, there is a beautiful\\ninstance of the kind describing the capricious\\nmelancholy of a broken-hearted girl:\\nWhen she sees a bank\\nStuck full of flowers, she, with a sigh, will tell\\nHer servants, what a pretty place it were\\nTo bury lovers in and made her maids\\nBluck em, and strew her over like a corse.\\nThe custom of decorating graves was once\\nuniversally prevalent: osiers were carefully\\nbent over them to keep the turf uninjured,\\nand about them were planted evergreens and\\nflowers. We adorn their graves, says Eve-\\nlyn, in his Sylva, with flowers and redolent\\nplants,- just emblems of the life of man, which\\nhas been compared in Holy Scriptures to those\\nfading beauties whose roots, being buried in\\ndishonor, rise again in glory. This usage\\nhas now become extremely rare in England;\\nbut it may still be met with in the churchyards\\nof retired villages, among the Welsh moun-\\ntains; and I recollect an instance of it at the\\nsmall town of Ruthven, which lies at the head\\nof the beautiful vale of Clewyd. I have been\\ntold also by a friend, who was present at the\\nfuneral of a young girl in Glamorganshire,\\nthat the female attendants had their aprons\\nfull of flowers, which, as soon as the body\\nwas interred, they stuck about the grave.\\nHe noticed several graves which had been\\ndecorated in the same manner. As the flowers\\nhad been rrierely stuck in the ground, and\\nnot planted, they had soon withered, and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 2ai\\nmight be seen in various states of decay some\\ndrooping-, others quite perished. They were\\nafterwards to be supplanted by holly, rose-\\nmary, and other evergreens, which on some\\ngraves had grown to great luxuriance, and\\novershadowed the tombstones.\\nThere was formerly a melancholy fanciful-\\nness in the arrangement of these rustic offer-\\nings, that had something in it truly poetical.\\nThe rose was sometimes blended with the lily,\\nto form a general emblem of frail mortality.\\nThis sweet flower, said Evelyn, borne on\\na branch set with thorns and accompanied with\\nthe lily, are natural hieroglyphics of our fugi-\\ntive, umbratile, anxious, and transitory life,\\nwhich, making so fair a show for a time, is\\nnot yet without its thorns and crosses. The\\nnature and color of the flowers, and of the\\nribbons with which they were tied, had often\\na particular reference to the qualities or story\\nof the deceased, or were expressive of the\\nfeelings of the mourner. In an old poem,\\nentitled Corydon s Doleful Knell, a lover\\nspecifies the decorations he intends to use\\nA garland shall be framed\\nBy art and nature s skill,\\nOf sundry-colored flowers.\\nIn token of good-will.\\nAnd sundry-colored ribbons\\nOn it I will bestow\\nBut chiefly blacke and yellowe\\nWith her to grave shall go.\\n14 Sketch Book\\nI ll deck her tomb with flowers\\nThe rarest ever seen", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "202 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nAnd with my tears as showers\\nI ll keep them fresh and green.\\nThe white rose, we are told, was planted at\\nthe grave of a virgin her chaplet was tied\\nwith white ribbons, in token of her spotless\\ninnocence, though sometimes black ribbons\\nwere intermingled, to bespeak the grief of the\\nsurvivors. The red rose was occasionally\\nused, in remembrance of such as had been\\nremarkable for benevolence but roses in\\ngeneral were appropriated to the graves of\\nlovers. Evelyn tells us that the custom was\\nnot altogether extinct in his time, near his\\ndwelling in the county of Surrey, where the\\nmaidens yearly planted and decked the graves\\nof their defunct sweethearts with rose-bushes.\\nAnd Camden likewise remarks, in his Brit-\\nannia: Here is also a certain custom,\\nobserved time out of mind, of planting trees\\nupon the graves, especially by the young men\\nand maids who have lost their loves; so that\\nthis churchyard is now full of them.\\nWhen the deceased had been unhappy in\\ntheir loves, emblems of a more gloomy charac-\\nter were used, such as the yew and cypress,\\nand if flowers were strewn, they were of the\\nmost melancholy colors. Thus, in poems by\\nThomas Stanley, Esq. (published in 1651), is\\nthe following stanza\\nYet strew\\nUpon my dismal grave\\nSuch offerings as you have,\\nForsaken cypresse and ye we\\nFor kinder flowers can take no birth\\nOr growth from such unhappy earth.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 203\\nIn The Maid s Tragedy, a pathetic little\\nair is introduced, illustrative of this mode of\\ndecorating the funerals of females who had\\nbeen disappointed in love\\nLay a garland on my hearse\\nOf the dismal yew.\\nMaidens, willow branches wear,\\nSay I died true.\\nMy love was false, but I was firm,\\nFrom my hour of birth\\nUpon my buried body lie\\nLightly, gentle earth.\\nThe natural effect of sorrow over the dead\\nis to refine and elevate the mind and we have\\na proof of it in the purity of sentiment and-\\nthe unaffected elegance of thought which\\npervaded the whole of these funeral observ-\\nances. Thus it was an especial precaution\\nthat none but sweet-scented evergreens and\\nflowers should be employed. The intention\\nseems to have been to soften the horrors of\\nthe tomb, to beguile the mind from brooding\\nover the disgraces of perishing mortality, and\\nto associate the memory of the deceased with\\nthe most delicate and beautiful objects in\\nnature. There is a dismal process going on\\nin the grave, ere dust can return to its kindred\\ndust, which the imagination shrinks from\\ncontemplating; and we seek still to think of\\nthe form we have loved, with those refined\\nassociations which it awakened when blooming\\nbefore us in youth and beauty. *Lay her i*\\nthe earth, says Laertes, of his virgin sister.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "^04 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nAnd from her fair and unpolluted flesh\\nMay violets spring.\\nHerrick, also, in his Dirge of Jephtha,*\\npours forth a fragrant flow of poetical thought\\nand image, which in a manner embalms the\\ndead in the recollections of the living.\\nSleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice.\\nAnd make this place all Paradise\\nMay sweets grow here and smoke from hence\\nFat frankincense.\\nLet balme and cassia send their scent\\nFrom out thy maiden monument.\\nMay all shie maids at wonted hours\\nCome forth to strew thy tombe with flowers\\nMay virgins, when they come to mourn\\nMale incense bum\\nUpon thine altar then return\\nAnd leave thee sleeping in thy urn.\\nI might crowd my pages with extracts from\\nthe older British poets, who wrote when these\\nrites were more prevalent, and delighted fre-\\nquently to allude to them; But I have already\\nquoted more than is necessary. I cannot,\\nhowever, refrain from giving a passage from\\nShakespeare, even though it should appear\\ntrite, which illustrates the emblematical mean-\\ning often conveyed in these floral tributes,\\nand at the same time possesses that magic of\\nlanguage and appositeness of imagery for\\nwhich he stands pre-eminent.\\nWith fairest flowers,\\nWhilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,\\nI ll sweeten thy sad grave thou shalt not lack", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 205^\\nThe flower that s like thy face, pale primrose; nor\\nThe azured harebell like thy veins no, nor\\nThe leaf of eglantine whom not to slander,\\nOutsweetened not thy breath.\\nThere is certainly something more affecting-\\nin these prompt and spontaneous offerings of\\nNature than in the most costly monuments\\nof art; the hand strues the flower while the\\nheart is warm, and the tear falls on the grave\\nas affection is binding the osier round the sod;\\nbut pathos expires under the slow labor of the\\nchisel, and is chilled among the cold conceits\\nof sculptured marble.\\nIt is greatly to be regretted that a custom\\nso truly elegant and touching has disappeared\\nfrom general use, and exists only in the most\\nremote and insignificant villages. But it\\nseems as if poetical custom always shuns the\\nwalks of cultivated society. In proportion as.\\npeople grow polite they cease to be poetical.\\nThey talk of poetry, but they have learnt tO\\ncheck its free impulses, to distrust its sallying^\\nemotions, and to supply its most affecting and\\npicturesque usages by studied form and pom-\\npous ceremonial. Few pageants can be more\\nstately and frigid than an English funeral in\\ntown. It is made up of show and gloomy\\nparades, mourning carriages, mourning horses^\\nmourning plumes, and hireling mourners, who\\nmake a mockery of grief. There is a grave\\ndigged, says Jeremy Taylor, and a solemn\\nmourning, and a great talk in the neighbor-\\nhood, and when the dales are finished, they^\\nshall be, and they shall be remembered no", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "206 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmore. The associate in the gay and crowded\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2city is soon forgotten; the hurrying succes-\\nsion of new intimates and new pleasures\\neffaces him from our minds, and the very\\nscenes and circles in which he moved are in-\\ncessantly fluctuating. But funerals in the\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0country are solemnly impressive. The stroke\\nof death makes a wider space in the village\\ncircle, and is an awful event in the tranquil\\nuniformity of rural life. The passing bell\\ntolls its knell in every ear it steals with its\\npervading melancholy over hill and vale, and\\nsaddens all the landscape.\\nThe fixed and unchanging features of the\\ncountry also perpetuate the memory of the\\nfriend with whom we once enjoyed them, who\\nwas the companion of our most retired walks,\\nand gave animation to every lonely scene. His\\nidea is associated with every charm of Nature;\\nwe hear his voice in the echo which he once\\ndelighted to awaken; his spirit haunts the\\ngrove which he once frequented; we think of\\nhim in the wild upland solitude or amidst the\\npensive beauty of the valley. In the freshness\\nof joyous morning we remember his beaming\\nsmiles and bounding gayety; and when sober\\nevening returns with its gathering shadows\\nand subduing quiet, we call to mind many a\\ntwilight hour of gentle talk and sweet-souled\\nmelancholy.\\nEach lonely place shall him restore,\\nFor him the tear be duly shed\\nBeloved till life can charm no more,\\nAnd mourn d till pity s self be dead.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK, 207\\nAnother cause that perpetuates the memory\\nof the deceased in the country is that the\\ngrave is more immediately in sight of the sur-\\nvivors. They pass it on their way to prayer;\\nit meets their eyes when their hearts are\\nsoftened by the exercises of devotion; they\\nlinger about it on the Sabbath, when the mind\\nis disengaged from worldly cares and most\\ndisposed to turn aside from present pleasures\\nand present loves and to sit down among the\\nsolemn momentos of the past. In North\\nWales the peasantry kneel and pray over the\\ngraves of their deceased friends for several\\nSundays after the interment and where the\\ntender rite of strewing and planting flowers is\\nstill practiced, it is always renewed on Easter,\\nWhitsuntide, and other festivals, when the\\nseason brings the companion of former fes-\\ntivity more vividly to mind. It is also invari-\\nably performed by the nearest relatives and\\nfriends; no menials nor hirelings are em-\\nployed, and if a neighbor yields assistance, it\\nwould be deemed an insult to offer compensa-\\ntion.\\nI have dwelt upon this beautiful rural cus-\\ntom, because it is one of the last, so is it one\\nof the holiest, offices of love. The grave is\\nthe ordeal of true affection. It is there that\\nthe divine passion of the soul manifests its\\nsuperiority to the instinctive impulse of mere\\nanimal attachment. The latter must be con-\\ntinually refreshed and kept alive by the pres-\\nence of its object, but the love that is seated\\nin the soul can live on long remembrance.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "208 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nThe mere inclinations of sense languish and\\ndecline with the charms which excited them,\\nand turn with shuddering disgust from the\\ndismal precincts of the tomb but it is thence\\nthat truly spiritual affection rises, purified\\nfrom every sensual desire, and returns, like\\na holy flame, to illumine and sanctify the\\nheart of the survivor.\\nThe sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow\\nfrom which we refuse to be divorced. Every\\nother wound we seek to heal, every other\\naffliction to forget; but this wound we con-\\nsider it a duty to keep open, this affliction we\\ncherish and brood over in solitude. Where is\\nthe mother who would willingly forget the\\ninfant that perished like a blossom from her\\narms, though every recollection is a pang?\\nWhere is the child that would willingly forget\\nthe most tender parents, though to remember\\nbe but to lament? Who, even in the hour of\\nagony, would forget the friend over whom he\\nmourns? Who, even when the tomb is closing\\nupon the remains of her he most loved, when\\nhe feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the\\nclosing of its portal, would accept of consola-\\ntion that must be bought by forgetfulness?\\nNo, the love which survives the tomb is one of\\nthe noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its\\nwoes, it has likewise its delights; and when\\nthe overwhelming burst of grief is calmed\\ninto the gentle tear of recollection, when the\\nsudden anguish and the convulsive agony over\\nthe present ruins of all that we most loved is\\nsoftened away into pensive meditation on all", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 209\\nthat it was in the days of its loveliness, wlio\\nwould root out such a sorrow from the heart?\\nThough it may sometimes throw a passing\\ncloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread\\na deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet\\nwho would exchange it even for the song of\\npleasure or the burst of revelry? No, there is\\na voice from the tomb sweeter than song.\\nThere is a remembrance of the dead to which\\nwe turn even from the charms of the living.\\nOh, the grave! the grave! It buries every\\nerror, covers every defect, extinguishes every\\nresentment! From its peaceful bosom spring\\nnone but fond regrets and tender recollections.\\nWho can look down upon the grave even of an\\nenemy, and not feel a compunctious throb that\\nhe should ever have warred with the poor\\nhandful of earth that lies mouldering before\\nhim?\\nBut the grave of those we loved\u00e2\u0080\u0094 what a\\nplace for meditation! There it is that we call\\nup in long review the whole history of virtue\\nand gentleness, and the thousand endearments\\nlavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily\\nintercourse of intimacy; there it is that we\\ndwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful\\ntenderness, of the parting scene. The bed of\\ndeath, with all its stifled griefs its noiseless\\nattendance its mute, watchful assiduities.\\nThe last testimonies of expiring love The\\nfeeble, fluttering, thrilling oh, how thrill-\\ning pressure of the hand The faint, falter-\\ning accents, struggling in death to give one\\nmore assurance of affection! The last fond", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "210 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nlook of the glazing eye, turning upon us even\\nfrom the threshold of existence\\nAy, go to the grave of buried love and med-\\nitate! There settle the account with thy\\nconscience for every past benefit unrequited\\nevery past endearment unregarded, of that\\ndeparted being who can never never never\\nreturn to be soothed by thy contrition\\nIf thou art a child, and hast ever added a sor-\\nrow to the soul or a furrow to the silvered brow\\nof an affectionate parent if thou art a husband,\\nand hast ever caused the fond bosom that ven-\\ntured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt\\none moment of thy kindness or thy truth if\\nthou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in\\nthought or word or deed, the spirit that gener-\\nously confided in thee if thou art a lover, and\\nhast ever given one unmerited pang to that\\ntrue heart which now lies cold and still beneath\\nthy feet, then be sure that every unkind look,\\nevery ungracious word, every ungentle action\\nwill come thronging back upon thy memory\\nand knocking dolefully at thy soul: then be\\nsure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and\\nrepentant on the grave, and utter the unheard\\ngroan and pour the unavailing tear, more deep,\\nmore bitter because unheard and unavail-\\ning.\\nThen weave thy chaplet of flowers and strew\\nthe beauties of Nature about the grave console\\nthy broken spirit, if thou canst, with these\\ntender yet futile tributes of regret but take\\nwarning by the bitterness of this thy contrite\\naffliction over the dead, and henceforth be", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 211\\nmore faithful and affectionate in the discharge\\nof thy duties to the living.\\nIn writing the preceding article it was not\\nintended to give a full detail of the funeral\\ncustoms of the English peasantry, but merely\\nto furnish a few hints and quotations illustra-\\ntive of particular rites, to be appended, by way\\nof note, to another paper, which has been\\nwithheld. The article swelled insensibly into\\nits present form, and this is mentioned as an\\napology for so brief and casual a notice of\\nthese usages after they have been amply and\\nlearnedly investigated in other works.\\nI must observe, also, that I am well aware\\nthat this custom of adorning graves w4th flow-\\ners prevails in other countries besides Eng-\\nland. Indeed, in some it is much more gen-\\neral, and is observed even by the rich and\\nfashionable but it is then apt to lose its sim-\\nplicity and to degenerate into affectation.\\nBright, in his travels in Lower Hungary, tells\\nof monuments of marble and recesses formed\\nfor retirement, with seats placed among bow-\\ners of greenhouse plants, and that the graves\\ngenerally are covered with the gayest flowers\\nof the season. He gives a casual picture of\\nfilial piety which I cannot but transcribe for\\nI trust it is as useful as it is delightful to illus-\\ntrate the amiable virtues of the sex. When I\\nwas at Berlin, says he, I followed the cele-\\nbrated Iffland to the grave. Mingled with\\nsome pomp 3^ou might trace much real feeling.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "212 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nIn the midst of the ceremony my attention was\\nattracted by a young woman who stood on\\na mound of earth newly covered with turf,\\nwhich she anxiously protected from the feet of\\nthe passing crowd. It was the tomb of her\\nparent; and the figure of this affectionate\\ndaughter presented a monument more striking\\nthan the most costly work of art.\\nI will barely add an instance of sepulchral\\ndecoration that I once met with among the\\nmountains of Switzerland. It was at the vil-\\nlage of Gersau, which stands on the borders of\\nthe Lake of Lucerne, at the foot of Mount\\nRigi. It was once the capital of a miniature\\nrepublic shut up between the Alps and the\\nlake, and accessible on the land side only by\\nfootpaths. The whole force of the republic\\ndid not exceed six hundred fighting men, and\\na few miles of circumference, scooped out as it\\nwere from the bosom of the mountains, com-\\nprised its territory. The village of Gersau\\nseemed separated from the rest of the world,\\nand retained the golden simplicity of a purer\\nage. It had a small church, with a burying-\\nground adjoining. At the heads of the graves^\\nwere placed crosses of wood or iron. On some\\nwere affixed miniatures, rudely executed, but\\nevidentl}^ attempts at likenesses of the de-\\nceased. On the crosses were hung chaplets of\\nflowers, some withering, others fresh, as if\\noccasionally renewed. I paused with interest\\nat this scene; I felt that I was at the source of\\npoetical description, for these were the beauti-\\nful but unaffected offerings of the heart which", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 21B\\npoets are fain to record. In a gayer and more\\npopulous place I should have suspected them\\nto have been suggested by factitious sentiment\\nderived from books; but the good people of\\nGersau knew little of books; there was not a\\nnovel nor a love-poem in the village, and I\\nquestion whether any peasant of the place\\ndreamt, while he was twining a fresh chaplet\\nfor the grave of his mistress, that he was ful-\\nfilling one of the most fanciful rites of poetical\\ndevotion, and that he was practically a poet.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "214 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nTHE INN KITCHEN.\\nShall I not take mine ease in mine inn?\\nFalstaff.\\nDuring a journey that I once made through\\nthe Netherlands, I had arrived one evening at\\nthe Pomme d Or, the principal inn of a small\\nFlemish village. It was after the hour of the\\ntable d hote, so that I was obliged to make a\\nsolitary supper from the relics of its ampler\\nboard. The weather was chilly I was seated\\nalone in one end of a great gloomy dining-\\nroom, and, my repast being over, I had the\\nprospect before me of a long dull evening,\\nwithout any visible means of enlivening it. I\\nsummoned mine host and requested something\\nto read; he brought me the whole literary\\nstock of his household, a Dutch family Bible,\\nan almanac in the same language, and a num-\\nber of old Paris newspapers. As I sat dozing\\nover one of the latter, reading old news and\\nstale criticisms, my ear was now and then\\nstruck with bursts of laughter which seemed\\nto proceed from the kitchen. Every one that\\nhas traveled on the Continent must know how\\nfavorite a resort the kitchen of a country inn is\\nto the middle and inferior order of travelers,\\nparticularly in that equivocal kind of weather\\nwhen a fire becomes agreeable toward even-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 215\\ning. I threw aside the newspaper and explored\\nmy way to the kitchen, to take a peep at the\\ngroup that appeared to be so merry. It was\\ncomposed partly of travelers who had arrived\\nsome hours before in a diligence, and partly of\\nthe usual attendants and hangers-on of inns.\\nThey were seated round a great burnished\\nstove, that might have been mistaken for an\\naltar at which they were worshiping. It was\\ncovered with various kitchen vessels of resplen-\\ndent brightness, among which steamed and\\nhissed a huge copper tea-kettle. A large lamp\\nthrew a strong mass of light upon the group,\\nbringing out many odd features in strong re*\\nlief. Its yellow rays partially illumined the\\nspacious kitchen, dying duskily away into re-\\nmote corners, except where they settled in mel-\\nlow radiance on the broad side of a flitch of\\nbacon or were reflected back from well-scoured\\nutensils that gleamed from the midst of obscur-\\nity. A strapping Flemish lass, with long gold-\\nen pendants in her ears, and a necklace with\\na golden heart suspended to it, was the presid-\\ning priestess of the temple.\\nMany of the company were furnished with\\npipes, and most of them with some kind of\\nevening potation. I found their mirth was\\noccasioned by anecdotes which a little swarthy\\nFrenchman, with a dry weazen face and large\\nwhiskers, was giving of his love-adventures;\\nat the end of each of which there was one of\\nthose bursts of honest unceremonious laughter\\nin which a man indulges in that temple of\\ntrue liberty, an inn.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "216 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nAs I had no better mode of getting through\\na tedious blustering evening, I took my seat\\nnear the stove, and listened to a variety of\\ntravelers tales, some very extravagant and\\nmost very dull. All of them, however, have\\nfaded from my treacherous memory except\\none, which I will endeavor to relate. I fear,\\nhowever, it derived its chief zest from the\\nmanner in which it was told, and the peculiar\\nair and appearance of the narrator. He was a\\ncorpulent old Swiss, who had the look of a vet-\\neran traveler. He was dressed in a tarnished\\ngreen traveling jacket, with a broad belt\\nround his waist, and a pair of overalls with\\nbuttons from the hips to the ankles. He was\\nof a full rubicund countenance, with a double\\nchin, aquiline nose, and a pleasant twinkling\\neye. His hair was light, and curled from un-\\nder an old green velvet traveling cap stuck on\\none side of his head. He was interrupted\\nmore than once by the arrival of guests or the\\nremarks of his auditors, and paused now and\\nthen to replenish his pipe at which times he\\nhad generally a roguish leer and a sly joke for\\nthe buxom kitchen-maid.\\nI wish my readers could imagine the old fel-\\nlow lolling in a huge arm-chair, one arm\\na-kimbo, the other holding a curiously twisted\\ntobacco-pipe formed of genuine ecu7ne de mer^\\ndecorated with silver chain and silken tassel,\\nhis head cocked on one side, and a whimsical\\ncut of the eye occasionally as he related the\\nfollowing story", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 217\\nTHE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM.\\nA traveler s tale.*\\nOn the summit of one of the heights of the\\nOdenwald, a wild and romantic tract of Upper\\nGermany that lies not far from the confluence\\nof the Main and the Rhine, there stood many,\\nmany years since the castle of the Baron Von\\nLandshort. It is now quite fallen to decay,\\nand almost buried among beech trees and dark\\nfirs; above which, however, its old watch-tower\\nmay still be seen struggling, like the former\\npossessor I have mentioned, to carry a high\\nhead and look down upon the neighboring\\ncountry.\\nThe baron was a dry branch of the great\\nfamily of Katzenellenbogen,f and inherited\\n*The erudite reader, well versed in good-for-nothing\\nlore, will perceive that the above Tale must have been\\nsuggested to the old Swiss by a little French anecdote,\\na circumstance said to have taken place in Paris.\\nHe that supper for is dight,\\nHe lyes full cold, I trow, this night\\nYestreen to chamber I him led,\\nThis night Gray-steel has made his bed!\\nSir Eger, Sir Grahame, and Sir Gray-Steel.\\nfl. e., Cat s Elbow the name of a family of those\\nparts, and very powerful in former times. The appella-\\nion, we are told, was given in compliment to a peer-\\nless dame of the family, celebrated for a fine arm.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "218 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthe relics of the property and all the pride, of\\nhis ancestors. Though the warlike disposition\\nof his predecessors had mnch impaired the\\nfamily possessions, yet the baron still endeav-\\nored to keep up some show of former state.\\nThe times were peaceable, and the German\\nnobles in general had abandoned their incon-\\nvenient old castles, perched like eagles nests\\namong the mountains, and had built more con-\\nvenient residences in the valleys; still, the\\nbaron remained proudly drawn up in his little\\nfortress, cherishing with hereditary inveteracy\\nall the old family feuds, so that he was on ill\\nterms with some of his nearest neighbors, on\\naccount of disputes that had happened between\\ntheir great-great-grandfathers.\\nThe baron had but one child, a daughter,\\nbut Nature, when she grants but one child,\\nalways compensates by making it a prodigy,;\\nand so it was with the daughter of the baron.\\nAll the nurses, gossips, and country cousins\\nassured her father that she had not her equal\\nfor beauty in all Germany; and who should\\nknow better than they? She had, moreover,\\nbeen brought up with great care under the\\nsuperintendence of two maiden aunts, who had\\nspent some years of their early life at one of\\nthe little German courts, and were skilled in\\nall branches of knowledge necessary to the\\neducation of a fine lady. Under their instruc-\\ntions she became a miracle of accomplish-\\nments. By the time she was eighteen she\\ncould embroider to admiration, and had\\nworked whole histories of the saints in tapes-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 219\\ntry with such strength of expression in their\\ncountenances that they looked like so many\\nsouls in purgatory. She could read without\\ngreat difficulty, and had spelled her way\\nthrough several Church legends and almost all\\nthe chivalric wonders of the Heldenbuch. She\\nhad even made considerable proficiency in\\nwriting; could sign her own name without\\nmissing a letter, and so legibly that her aunts\\ncould read it without spectacles. She excelled\\nin making little elegant good-for-nothing, lady-\\nlike nicknacks of all kinds, was versed in the\\nmost abstruse dancing of the day, played a\\nnumber of airs on the harp and guitar, and\\nknew all the tender ballads of the Minnelieders\\nby heart.\\nHer aunts, too, having been great flirts and\\ncoquettes in their younger days, were admir-\\nably calculated to be vigilant guardians and\\nstrict censors of the conduct of their niece for\\nthere is no duenna so rigidly prudent and in-\\nexorably decorous as a superannuated coquette.\\nShe was rarely suffered out of their sight\\nnever went beyond the domains of the castle\\nunless well attended, or rather well watched\\nhad continual lectures read to her about strict\\ndecorum and implicit obedience and, as to the\\nmen pah she was taught to hold them at\\nsuch a distance and in such absolute distrust\\nthat, unless properly authorized, she would not\\nhave cast a glance upon the handsomest cav-\\nalier in the world no, not if he were even\\ndying at her feet.\\nThe good effects of this system were won-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "220 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nderfuUy apparent. The young lady was a pat-\\ntern of docility and correctness. While others\\nwere wasting their sweetness in the glare of\\nthe world, and liable to be plucked and thrown\\naside by every hand, she was coyly blooming\\ninto fresh and lovely womanhood under the\\nprotection of those immaculate spinsters, like\\na rosebud blushing forth among guardian\\nthorns. Her aunts looked upon her with pride\\nand exultation, and vaunted that, though all\\nthe other young ladies in the world might go\\nastray, yet, thank Heaven, nothing of the kind\\ncould happen to the heiress of Katzenellenbo-\\ngen.\\nBut, however scantily the Baron Von Land-\\nshort might be provided with children, his\\nhousehold was by no means a small one for\\nProvidence had enriched him with abundance\\nof poor relations. They, one and all, poss-\\nessed the affectionate disposition common to\\nhumble relatives were wonderfully attached\\nto the baron, and took every possible occasion\\nto come in swarms and enliven the castle. All\\nfamily festivals were commemorated by these\\ngood people at the baron s expense; and when\\nthey were filled with good cheer they would\\ndeclare that there was nothing on earth so\\ndelightful as these family meetings, these jubi-\\nlees of the heart.\\nThe baron, though a small man, had a large\\nsoul, and it swelled with satisfaction at the\\nconsciousness of being the greatest man in the\\nlittle world about him. He loved to tell long\\nstories about the stark old warriors whose", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 221\\nportraits looked grimly down from the walls\\naround, and he found no listeners equal to\\nthose who fed at his expense. He was much\\ngiven to the marvelous and a firm believer in\\nall those supernatural tales with which every\\nmountain and valley in Germany abounds.\\nThe faith of his guests exceeded even his own\\nthey listened to every tale of wonder with open\\neyes and mouth, and never failed to be aston-\\nished, even though repeated for the hundredth\\ntime. Thus lived the Baron Von Landshort,\\nthe oracle of his table, the absolute monarch of\\nhis little territory, and happy, above all things,\\nin the persuasion that he was the wisest man of\\nthe age.\\nAt the time of which my story treats there\\nwas a great family gathering at the castle on\\nan affair of the utmost importance: it was to\\nreceive the destined bridegroom of the baron s\\ndaughter. A negotiation had been carried on\\nbetween the father and an old nobleman of\\nBavaria to unite the dignify of their houses by\\nthe marriage of their children. The prelimi-\\nnaries had beenconductedwithproperpunctilio.\\nThe young people were betrothed without\\nseeing each other, and the time was appointed\\nfor the marriage ceremony. The young Count\\nVon Altenburg had been recalled from the\\narmy for the purpose, and was actually on his\\nway to the baron s to receive his bride. Mis-\\nsives had even been received from him from\\nWurtzburg, where he was accidentally detained\\nmentioning the day and hour when he might\\nbe expected to arrive.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "222 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nThe castle was in a tumult of preparation to\\ngive him a suitable welcome. The fair bride\\nhad been decked out with uncommon care.\\nThe two aunts had superintended her toilet,\\nand quarreled the whole morning about every\\narticle of her dress. The young lady had taken\\nadvantage of their contest to follow the bent\\nof her own taste; and fortunately it was a\\ngood one. She looked as lovely as youthful\\nbridegroom could desire, and the flutter of\\nexpectation heightened the lustfe of her\\ncharms.\\nThe suffusions that mantled her face and\\nneck, the gentle heaving of the bosom, the eye\\nnow and then lost in reverie, all betrayed the\\nsoft tumult that was going on in her little\\nheart. The aunts were continually hovering\\naround her, for maiden aunts are apt to take\\ngreat interest in affairs of this nature. They\\nwere giving her a world of staid counsel how\\nto deport herself, what to say and in wnat\\nmanner to receive the expected lover.\\nThe baron was no less busied in preparations.\\nHe had in truth nothing exactly to do; but he\\nwas naturally a fuming bustling little man and\\ncould not remain passive when all the world\\nwas in a hurry. He worried from top to bot-\\ntom of the castle with an air of infinite anxiety;\\nhe continually called the servants from their\\nwork to exhort them to be diligent and buzzed\\nabout every hall and chamber as idly restless\\nand importunate as a blue-bottle fly on a warm\\nsummer s day.\\nIn the meantime the fatted calf had been", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 223\\nkilled; the forests had rung with the clamor\\nof the huntsmen; the kitchen was crowded\\nwith good cheer; the cellars had yielded up\\nwhole oceans of Rhein-w^ein and Ferne-wein\\nand even the great Heidelberg tun had been\\nlaid under contribution. Everything was\\nready to receive the distinguished guest with\\nSaus und Braus in the true spirit of German hos-\\npitality; but the guest delayed to make his\\nappearance. Hour rolled after hour. The sun\\nthat had poured his downward rays upon the\\nrich forests of the Odenwald now just gleamed\\nalong the summits of the mountains. The\\nbaron mounted the highest tower and strained\\nhis eyes in hopes of catching a distant sight of\\nthe count and his attendants. Once he thought\\nhe beheld them; the sound of horns came\\nfloating from the valley prolonged by the\\nmountain-echoes. A number of horsemen\\nwere seen far below slowly advancing along\\nthe road; but when they had nearly reached\\nthe foot of the mountain they suddenly struck\\noff in a different direction. The last ray of\\nsunshine departed, the bats began to flit by\\nin the twilight, the road grew dimmer and\\ndimmer to the view, and nothing appeared\\nstirring in it but now and then a peasant lag-\\nging homeward from his labor.\\nWhile the old castle of Landshort was in this\\nstate of perplexity a very interesting scene\\nwas transacting in a different part of the Oden-\\nwald.\\nThe young Count Von Altenburg was tran-\\nquilly pursuing his. route in that sober jog-trot", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "224 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nway in which a man travels toward matri-\\nmony when his friends have taken all the\\ntrouble and uncertainty of courtship off his\\nhands and a bride is waiting for him as cer-\\ntainly as a dinner at the end of his journey.\\nHe had encountered at Wurtzburg- a youthful\\ncompanion-in-arms with whom he had seen\\nsome service on the frontiers Herman Von\\nStarkenfaust, one of the stoutest hands and\\nworthiest hearts of German chivalry who was\\nnow returning from the army. His father s\\ncastle was not far distant from the old fortress\\nof Landshort, although an hereditary feud ren-\\ndered the families hostile and strangers to each\\nother.\\nIn the warm-hearted moment of recognition\\nthe young friends related all their past adven-\\ntures and fortunes, and the count gave the\\nwhole history of his intended nuptials with a\\nyoung lady whom he had never seen, but of\\nwhose charms he had received the most enrap-\\nturing descriptions.\\nAs the route of the friends lay in the same\\ndirection, they agreed to perform the rest of\\ntheir journey together, and that they might do\\nit the more leisurely, set off from Wurtzburg\\nat an early hour, the count having given direc-\\ntions for his retinue to follow and overtake\\nhim.\\nThey beguiled their wayfaring with recollec-\\ntions of their military scenes and adventures,\\nbut the count was apt to be a little tedious now\\nand then about the reputed charms of his bride\\nand the felicity that awaited him.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 225\\nIn this way they had entered among the\\nmountains of the Odenwald, and were travers-\\ning- one of its most lonely and thickly wooded\\npasses. It is well known that the forests of\\nGermany have always been as much infested\\nby robbers as its castles by spectres, and at\\nthis time the former were particularly numer-\\nous, from the hordes of disbanded soldiers wan-\\ndering about the country. It will not appear\\nextraordinary, therefore, that the cavaliers\\nwere attacked by a gang of these stragglers,\\nin the midst of the forest They defended\\nthemselves with bravery, but were nearly over\\npowered when the count s retinue arrived to\\ntheir assistance. At sight of them the robbers\\niied, but not until the count had received a\\nmortal wound. He was slowly and carefully\\nconveyed back to the city of Wurtzburg, and a\\nfriar summoned from a neighboring convent\\nwho was famous for his skill in administering\\nto both soul and body but half of his skill was\\nsuperfluous; the moments of the unfortunate\\ncount were numbered.\\nWith his dying breath he entreated his friend\\nto repair instantly to the castle of Landshort\\nand explain the fatal cause of his not keeping\\nliis appointment with his bride. Though not\\nthe most ardent of lovers, he was one of the\\nmost punctilious of men, and appeared earn-\\nestly solicitous that his mission should be speed-\\nily and courteously executed. Unless this is\\ndone, said he, I shall not sleep quietly in\\nmy grave. He repeated these last words\\nwith peculiar solemnity. A request at a\\n15 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "226 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmoment so impressive admitted no hesitation.\\nStarkenfaust endeavored to soothe him to\\ncalmness, promised faithfully to execute his\\nwish, and gave him his hand in solemn pledge.\\nThe dying man pressed it in acknowledgment,\\nbut soon lapsed into delirium raved about his\\nbride, his engagements, his plighted word^\\nordered his horse, that he might ride to the\\nqastle of Landshort, and expired in the fancied\\nact of vaulting into the saddle.\\nStarkenfaust bestowed a sigh and a soldier s\\ntear on the untimely fate of his comrade and\\nthen pondered on the awkward mission he had\\nundertaken. His heart was heavy and his head\\nperplexed for he was to present himself an\\nunbidden guest among hostile people, and to\\ndamp their festivity with tidings fatal to their\\nhopes. Still, there were certain whisperings\\nof curiosity in his bosom to see this far-famed\\nbeauty of Katzenellenbogen, so cautiously shut\\nup from the world -for he was a passionate\\nadmirer of the sex, and there was a dash of\\neccentricity and enterprise in his character that\\nmade him fond of all singular adventure.\\nPrevious to his departure he made all due\\narrangements with the holy fraternity of the\\nconvent for the funeral solemnities of his\\nfriend, who was to be buried in the cathedral\\nof Wurtzburg near some of his illustrious\\nrelatives, and the mourning retinue of the count\\ntook charge of his remains.\\nIt is now high time that we should return to\\nthe ancient family of Katzenellenbogen, who\\nwere impatient for their guest, and still more", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 227\\nfor their dinner, and to the worthy little baron,\\nwhom we left airing himself on the watch-\\ntower.\\nNight closed in, but still no guest arrived.\\nThe baron descended from the tower in\\ndespair. The banquet, which had been\\ndelayed from hour to hour, could no longer be\\npostponed. The meats were already overdone,\\nthe cook in an agony, and the whole household\\nhad the look of a garrison that had been reduced\\nby famine. The baron was obliged reluctantly\\nto give orders for the feast without the pres-\\nence of the guest. All were seated at table,\\nand just on the point of commencing, when\\nthe sound of a horn from without the gate gave\\nnotice of the approach of a stranger. Another\\nlong blast filled the old courts of the castle\\nwith its echoes, and was answered by the\\nwarder from the walls. The baron hastened\\nto receive his future son-in-law.\\nThe drawbridge had been let down, and the\\nstranger was before the gate. He was a tall\\ngallant cavalier, mounted on a black steed.\\nHis countenance was pale, but he had a beam-\\ning, romantic eye and an air of stately melan-\\ncholy. The baron was a little mortified that he\\nshould have come in this simple, solitary style.\\nHis dignity for a moment was rufiled, and he\\nfelt disposed to consider it a want of proper\\nrespect for the important occasion and the im-\\nportant family with which he was to be con-\\nnected. He pacified himself, however, with\\nthe conclusion that it must have been youthful", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "228 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nimpatience which had induced him thus to spui\\non sooner than his attendants.\\nI am sorry, said the stranger, to breal^\\nin upon you thus unseasonably\\nHere the baron interrupted him with a world\\nof compliments and greetings, for, to tell the\\ntruth, he prided himself upon his courtesy and\\neloquence. The stranger attempted once or\\ntwice to stem the torrent of words, but in vain,\\nso he bowed his head and suffered it to flow on.\\nBy the time the baron had come to a pause\\nthey had reached the inner court of the castle,\\nand the stranger was again about to speak,\\nwhen he was once moi;p interrupted by the\\nappearance of the female part of the family,\\nleading forth the shrinking and blushing bride.\\nHe gazed on her for a moment as one entranced\\nit seemed as if his whole soul beamed forth in\\nthe gaze and rested upon that lovely form.\\nOne of the maiden aunts whispered something\\nin her ear; she made an effort to speak; her\\nmoist blue eye was timidly raised, gave a shy\\nglance of inquiry on the stranger, and was cast\\nagain to the ground. The words died away,\\nbut there was a sweet smile playing about her\\nlips, and a soft dimpling of the cheek that\\nshowed her glance had not been unsatisfac-\\ntor3^ It was impossible for a girl of the fond\\nage of eighteen, highly predisposed for love\\nand matrimony, not to be pleased with so gal-\\nlant a cavalier.\\nThe late hour at which the guest had arrived\\nleft no time for parley. The baron was per-\\nemptory, and defei:red all particular conversa-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 229\\ntion until the, morning, and led the way to the\\nuntasted banquet.\\nIt was served up in the great hall of the cas-\\ntle. Around the walls hung the hard-favored\\nportraits of the heroes of the house of Katze-\\nnellenbogen, and the trophies which they had\\ngained in the field and in the chase. Hacked\\ncorselets, splintered jousting-spears, and tat-\\ntered banmers were mingled with the spoils of\\nsylvan warfare the jaws of the wolf and the\\ntusks of the boar grinned horribly among\\ncrossbows and battle-axes, and a huge pair of\\nantlers branched immediately over the head of\\nthe youthful bridegroom.\\nThe cavalier took but little notice of the com-\\npany or the entertainment. He scarcely tasted\\nthe banquet, but seemed absorbed in admira-\\ntion of his bride. He conversed in a low tone\\nthat could not be overheard, for the language\\nof love is never loud but where is the female\\near so dull that it cannot catch the softest\\nwhisper of the lover? There was a mingled\\ntenderness and gravity in his manner that\\nappeared to have a powerful effect upon the\\nyoung lady. Her color came and went as she\\nlistened with deep attention. Now and then\\nshe made some blushing reply, and when his\\neye was turned away she would steal a side-\\nlong glance at his romantic countenance, and\\nheave a gentle sigh of tender happiness. It\\nwas evident that the young couple were com-\\npletely enamored. The aunts, who were deeply\\nversed in the mysteries of the heart, declared", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "230 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthat they had fallen in love with each other at\\nfirst sight.\\nThe feast went on merrily, or at least nois-\\nily, for the guests were all blessed with those\\nkeen appetites that attend upon light purses\\nand mountain air. The baron told his best\\nand longest stories, and never had he told them\\nso well or with such great effect. If there was\\nanything marvelous, his auditors were lost in\\nastonishment and if anything facetious, they\\nwere sure to laugh exactly in the right place.\\nThe baron, it is true, like most great men, was\\ntoo dignified to utter any joke but a dull one\\nit was always enforced, however, by a bumper\\nof excellent Hockheimer, and even a dull joke\\nat one s own table, served up with jolly old\\nwine, is irresistible. Many good things were\\nsaid by poorer and keener wits that would not\\nbear repeating, except on similar occasions;\\nmany sly speeches whispered in ladies ears\\nthat almost convulsed them with suppressed\\nlaughter and a song or two roared out by a\\npoor but merry and broad- faced cousin of the\\nbaron that absolutely made the maiden aunts\\nhold up their fans.\\nAmidst all this revelry the stranger guest\\nmaintained a most singular and unreasonable\\ngravity. His countenance assumed a deeper\\ncast of dejection as the evening advanced,\\nand, strange as it may appear, even the bar-\\non s jokes seemed only to render him the more\\nmelancholy. At times he was lost in thought,\\nand at times there was a perturbed and rest-\\nless wandering of the eye that bespoke a mind", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 231\\nbut ill at ease. His conversations with the\\nbride became more and more earnest and mys-\\nterious. Lowering clouds began to steal over\\nthe fair serenity of her brow, and tremors to\\nrun through her tender frame.\\nAll this could not escape the notice of the\\ncompany. Their gayety was chilled by the\\nunaccountable gloom of the bridegroom their\\nspirits were infected; whispers and glances\\nwere interchanged, accompanied by shrugs\\nand dubious shakes of the head. The song\\nand the laugh grew less and less frequent;\\nthere were dreary pauses in the conversation,\\nwhich were at length succeeded by wild tales\\nand supernatural legends. One dismal story\\nproduced another still more dismal, and the\\nbaron nearly frightened some of the ladies into\\nhysterics with the history of the goblin horse-\\nman that carried away the fair Leonora a\\ndreadful story which has since been put into\\nexcellent verse, and is read and believed by\\nall the world.\\nThe bridegroom listened to this tale with\\nprofound attention. He kept his eyes steadily\\nfixed on the baron, and, as the story drew to a\\nclose, began gradually to rise from his seat,\\ngrowing taller and taller, imtil in the baron s\\nentranced eye he seemed almost to tower into\\na giant. The moment the tale was finished\\nhe heaved a deep sigh and took a solemn fare-\\nwell of the company. They were all amaze-\\nment. The baron was perfectly thunderstruck.\\nWhat! going to leave the castle at mid-\\nnight? Why, everything was prepared for his", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "232 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nreception a chamber was ready for him if he\\nwished to retire.\\nThe stranger shook his head mournfully and\\nmysteriously I must lay my head in a differ-\\nent chamber to-night.\\nThere was something in this reply and the\\ntone in which it was uttered that made the\\nbaron s heart misgive him; but he rallied his\\nforces and repeated his hospitable entreaties.\\nThe stranger shook his head silently, but\\npositively, at everj offer, and, waving his fare-\\nwell to the company, stalked slowly out of the\\nhall. The maiden aunts were absolutely pet-\\nrified the bride hung her head and a tear stole\\nto her eye.\\nThe baron followed the stranger to the great\\ncourt of the castle, where the black charger\\nstood pawing the earth and snorting with im-\\npatience. When they had reached the portal,\\nwhose deep archway was dimly lighted by a\\ncresset, the stranger paused, and addressed the\\nbaron in a hollow tone of voice, which the\\nvaulted roof rendered still more sepulchral.\\nNow that we are alone, said he, will\\nimpart to you the reason of my going. I have\\na solemn, an indispensable engagement\\nWhy, said the baron, cannot you send\\nsome one in your place?\\nIt admits of no substitute I must attend it\\nin person I must av/ay to Wurtzburg cathe-\\ndral\\nAy, said the baron, plucking up spirit,\\nbut not until to-morrow to-morrow you\\nshall take your bride there.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 233\\nNo! no! replied the stranger, with tenfold\\nsolemnity, my engagement is with no bride\\nthe worms! the worms expect me! I am a\\ndead man I have been slain by robbers my\\nbody lies at Wurtzburg at midnight I am to\\nbe buried the grave is waiting for me I\\nmust keep my appointment!\\nHe sprang on his black charger, dashed over\\nthe drawbridge, and the clattering of his horse s\\nhoofs was lost in the whistling of the night\\nblast.\\nThe baron returned to the hall in the utmost\\nconsternation, and related what had passed.\\nTwo ladies fainted outright, others sickened at\\nthe idea of having banqueted with a spectre.\\nIt was the opinion of some that this might be\\nthe wild huntsman, famous in German legend;\\nSome talked of mountain- sprites, of wood-\\ndemons, and of other supernatural beings with\\nwhich the good people of Germany have been\\nso grievously harassed since time immemorial.\\nOne of the poor relations ventured to suggest\\nthat it might be some sportive evasion of the\\nyoung cavalier, and that the very gloominess\\nof the caprice seemed to accord with so melan-\\ncholy a personage. This, however, drew on\\nhim the indignation of the whole company,\\nand especially of the baron, who looked upon\\nhim as little better than an infidel; so that he\\nwas fain to abjure his heresy as speedily, as\\npossible and come into the faith of the true\\nbelievers.\\nBut, whatever may have been the doubts en-\\ntertained, they were completely put to an end\\n16 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "234 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nby the arrival next day of regular missives con-\\nfirming the intellig ence of the young count s\\nmurder and his interment in Wurtzburg cathe-\\ndral.\\nThe dismay at the castle may well be imag-\\nined. The baron shut himself up in his cham-\\nber. The guests, who had come to rejoice with\\nhim, could not think of abandoning him in his\\ndistress. They wandered about the courts or\\ncollected in groups in the hall, shaking their\\nheads and shrugging their shoulders at the\\ntroubles of so good a man, and sat longer than\\never at table, and ate and drank more stoutly\\nthan ever, by way of keeping up their spirits.\\nBut the situation of the widowed bride was the\\nmost pitiable. To have lost a husband before\\nshe had even embraced him and such a hus-\\nband If^ the very spectre could be so gracious\\nand noble, what must have been the living\\nman? She filled the house with lamentations.\\nOn the night of the second day of her widow-\\nhood she had retired to her chamber, accom-\\npanied by one of her aunts, who insisted on\\nsleeping with her. The aunt, who was one of\\nthe best tellers of ghost-stories in all Germany,\\nhad just been recounting one of her longest,\\nand had fallen asleep in the very midst of it.\\nThe chamber was remote and overlooked a\\nsmall garden. The niece lay pensively gazing\\nat the beams of the rising moon as they trem-\\nbled on the leaves of an aspen tree before the\\nlattice. The castle clock had just tolled mid-\\nnight when a soft strain of music stole up from\\nthe garden. She rose hastily from her bed", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 235\\nand stepped lightly to the window. A tall fig-\\nure stood among the shadows of the trees. As\\nit raised its head a beam of moonlight fell\\nupon the countenance. Heaven and earth she\\nbeheld the Spectre Bridegroom! A loud\\nshriek at that moment burst upon her ear, and\\nher aunt, who had been awakened by the mu-\\nsic and had followed her silently to the win-\\ndow, fell into her arms. When she looked\\nagain the spectre had disappeared.\\nOf the two females, the aunt now required\\nthe most soothing, for she was perfectly beside\\nherself with terror. As to the young lady,\\nthere was something even in the spectre of her\\nlover that seemed endearing. There was still\\nthe semblance of manly beauty, and, though\\nthe shadow of a man is but little calculated to\\nsatisfy the affections of a lovesick girl, yet\\nwhere the substance is not to be had even that\\nis consoling. The aunt declared she would\\nnever sleep in that chamber again; the niece,\\nfor once, was refractory, and declared as\\nstrongly that she would sleep in no other in\\nthe castle the consequence was, that she had\\nto sleep in it alone; but she drew a promise\\nfrom her aunt not to relate the story of the\\nspectre, lest she should be denied the only mel-\\nancholy pleasure left her on earth that of in-\\nhabiting the chamber over which the guardian\\nshade of her lover kept its nightly vigils.\\nHow long the good old lady would have ob-\\nserved this promise is uncertain, for she dearly\\nloved to talk of the marvelous, and there is a\\ntriumph in being the first to tell a frightful", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "236 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nStory; it is, however, still quoted in the neigh-\\nborhood as a memorable instance of female\\nsecrecy that she kept it to herself for a whole\\nweek, when she was suddenly absolved from\\nall further restraint by intelligence brought to\\nthe breakfast table one morning that the young\\nlady was not to be found. Her room was\\nempty the bed had not been slept in the\\nwindow was open and the bird had flown\\nThe astonishment and concern with which\\nthe intelligence was received can only be im-\\nagined by those who have witnessed the agita-\\ntion which the mishaps of a great man cause\\namong his friends. Even the poor relations\\npaused for a moment from the indefatigable\\nlabors of the trencher, when the aunt, who\\nhad at first been struck speechleco, wrung her\\nhands and shrieked out, The goblin! the gob-\\nlin! she s carried away by the goblin!\\nIn a few words she related the fearful scene\\nof the garden, and concluded that the spectre\\nmust have carried off his bride. Two of the\\ndomestics corroborated the opinion, for they\\nhad heard the clattering of a horse s hoofs\\ndown the mountain about midnight, and had\\nno doubt that it was the spectre on his black\\ncharger bearing her away to the tomb. All\\npresent were struck with the direful probabil-\\nity, for events of the kind are extremely com-\\nmon in Germany, as many well-authenticated\\nhistories bear witness.\\nWhat a lamentable situation was that of the\\npoor baron! What a heartrending dilemma\\nfor a fond father and a member of the great", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 23T\\nfamily of Katzenellenbogen His only daugh-\\nter had either been rapt away to the grave, or\\nhe was to have some wood-demon for a son-in-\\nlaw, and perchance a troop of goblin grandchil-\\ndren. As usual, he was completely bewil-\\ndered, and all the castle^ in an uproar. The\\nmen were ordered to take horse and scoiaar\\nevery road and path and glen of the Odenvsrald.\\nThe baron himself had just drawn on his jacki-\\nboots, girded on his sword, and was about to\\nmount his steed to sally forth on the doubtful\\nquest, when he was brought to a pause by a\\nnew apparition. A lady was seen approacbfiig\\nthe castle mounted on a palfrey, attended hy\\na cavalier on horseback. She galloped up to\\nthe gate, sprang from her horse, and, falling;\\nat the baron s feet, embraced his knees. It\\nwas his lost daughter, and her companion the\\nSpectre Bridegroom! The baron was a\\ntounded. He looked at his daughter, then at\\nthe spectre, and almost doubted the evidence\\nof his senses. The latter, too, was wonder-\\nfully improved in his appearance since his visit-\\nto the world of spirits. His dress was spleB-\\ndid, and set off a noble figure of manly sym-\\nmetry. He was no longer pale and melancholy.\\nHis fine countenance was flushed with the glow\\nof youth, and jo}^ rioted in his large dark eye-,.\\nThe mystery was soon cleared up. The^\\ncavalier (for, in truth, as you must have known-\\nall the while, he was no goblin) announced,\\nhimself as Sir Herman Von Starkenfaust. He\\nrelated his adventure with the young count.\\nHe told how he had hastened to the castle to", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "238 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ndeliver the unwelcome tidings, but that the\\neloquence of the baron had interrupted him in\\nevery attempt to tell his talC; How the sight\\nof the bride had completely captivated him,\\nand that to pass a few hours near her he had\\ntacitly suffered the mistake to continue. How\\nhe had been sorely perplexed in what way to\\nmake a decent retreat, until the baron s goblin\\nstories had suggested his eccentric exit. How,\\nfearing the feudal hostility of the family, he\\nhad repeated his visits by stealth had haunted\\nthe garden beneath the young lady s window\\nhad wooed had won had borne away in tri-\\numph and, in a word, had wedded the fair.\\nUnder any other circumstances the baron\\nwould have been inflexible, for he was tenacious\\nof paternal authority and devoutly obstinate in\\nall family feuds but he loved his daughter he\\nhad lamented her as lost he rejoiced to find\\nher still alive; and, though her husband was\\nof a hostile house, yet, thank Heaven he was\\nnot a goblin. There was something, it must\\nbe acknowledged, that did not exactly accord\\nwith his notions of strict veracity in the joke\\nthe knight had passed upon him of his being a\\ndead man; but several old friends present,\\nwho had served in the wars, assured him that\\nevery stratagem was excusable in love, and\\nthat the cavalier was entitled to especial priv-\\nilege, having lately served as a trooper.\\nMatters, therefore, were happily arranged.\\nThe baron pardoned the young couple on the\\nspot. The revels at the castle were resumed.\\nThe poor relations overwhelmed this new mem-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 239\\nber of the family with loving-kindness he was\\nso gallant, so generous and so rich. The\\naunts, it is true, were somewhat scandalized\\nthat their system of strict seclusion and passive\\nobedience should be so badly exemplified, but\\nattributed it all to their negligence in not hav-\\ning the windows grated. One of them was\\nparticularly mortified at having her marvelous\\nstory marred, and that the only spectre she had\\never seen should turn out a counterfeit but\\nthe niece seemed perfectly happy at having\\nfound him substantial flesh and blood. And\\nso the story ends.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "240 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nWESTMINSTER ABBEY.\\nWhen I behold, with deep astonishment,\\nTo famous Westminster how there resorte,\\nLiving in brasse or stoney monument,\\nThe princes and the worthies of all sorte\\nDoe not I see reformde nobilitie.\\nWithout contempt, or pride, or ostentation\\nAnd looke upon offenselesse majesty,\\nNaked of pomp or earthly domination?\\nAnd how a play-game of a painted stone\\nContents the quiet now and silent sprites,\\nWhome all the world which late they stood upon.\\nCould not content nor quench their appetite.\\nLife is a frost of cold felicitie,\\nAnd death the thaw of all our vanitie.\\nChristolero s Epigrams, by T. B., 1598.\\nOn one of those sober and rather melancholy\\ndays in the latter part of autumn when the\\nshadows of morning and evening almost\\nmingle together, and throw a gloom over the\\ndecline of the year, I passed several hours in\\nrambling about Westminster Abbey. There\\nwas something congenial to the season in the\\nmournful magnificence of the old pile, and as\\nI passed its threshold it seemed like stepping\\nback into the regions of antiquity and losing\\nmyself among the shades of former ages.\\nI entered from the inner court of Westmin-\\nster School, through a long, low, vaulted pas-\\nsage that had an almost subterranean look,\\nbeing dimly lighted in one part by circular", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 241\\nperforations in the massive walls. Through\\nthis dark avenue I had a distant view of the\\ncloisters, with the figure of an old verger in his\\nblack gown moving along their shadowy vaults,\\nand seeming like a spectre from one of the\\nneighboring tombs. The approach to the\\nabbe}^ through these gloomy monastic remains\\nperpares the mind for its solemn contemplation.\\nThe cloisters still retain something of the quiet\\nand seclusion of former days. The gray walls\\nare discolored by damps and crumbling with\\nage; a coat of hoary moss has gathered over\\nthe inscriptions of the mural monuments, and\\nobscured the death s heads and other funeral\\nemblems. The sharp touches of the chisel are\\ngone from the rich tracery of the arches; the\\nroses which adorned the key- stones have lost\\ntheir leafy beauty; everything bears marks of\\nthe gradual dilapidations of time, which yet\\nhas something touching and pleasing in its\\nvery decay.\\nThe sun was pouring down a yellow autum-\\nnal ray into the square of the cloisters, beam-\\ning upon a scanty plot of grass in the center,\\nand lighting up an angle of the vaulted passage\\nwith a kind of dusky splendor. From between\\nthe arcades the eye glanced up to a bit of blue\\nsky or a passing cloud, and beheld the sun-gilt\\npinnacles of the abbey towering into the azure\\nheaven.\\nAs I paced the cloisters, sometimes contem-\\nplating this mingled picture of glory and\\ndecay, and sometimes endeavoring to decipher\\nthe inscriptions on the tombstones which", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "242 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nformed the pavement beneath my feet, my eye\\nwas attracted to three figures rudely carved in\\nrelief, but nearly worn away by the footsteps\\nof many generations. They were the effigies\\nof three of the early abbots the epitaphs were\\nentirely effaced; the names alone remained,\\nhaving no doubt been renewed in later times\\n(Vitalis. Abbas. 1082, and Gislebertus Crispinus.\\nAbbas. 1114, and Laurentius, Abbas. 11 76). I\\nremained some little while, musing over these\\ncasual relics of antiquity thus left like wrecks\\nupon this distant shore of time, telling no tale\\nbut that such beings had been and had per-\\nished, teaching no moral but the futility of that\\npride which hopes still to exact homage in its\\nashes and to live in an inscription. A little\\nlonger, and even these faint records will be\\nobliterated and the monument will cease to be\\na memorial. Whilst I was yet looking down\\nupon the gravestones I was roused by the\\nsound of the abbey clock, reverberating from\\nbuttress to buttress and echoing among the\\ncloisters. It is almost startling to hear this\\nwarning of departed time sounding among the\\ntombs and telling the lapse of the hour, which,\\nlike a billow, has rolled us onward towards the\\ngrave. I pursued my walk to an arched door\\nopening to the interior of the abbey. On\\nentering here the magnitude of the building\\nbreaks fully upon the mind, contrasted with\\nthe vaults of the cloisters. The eyes gaze\\nwith wonder at clustered columns of gigantic\\ndimensions, with arches springing from them\\nto such an amazing height, and man wander-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 243\\ning about their bases, shrunk into insignificance\\nin comparison with his own handiwork. The\\nspaciousness and gloom of this vast edifice pro-\\nduce a profound and mysterious awe. We step\\ncautiously and softly about, as if fearful of dis-\\nturbing the hallowed silence of the tomb, while\\nevery footfall whispers along the walls and\\nchatters among the sepulchres, making us\\nmore sensible of the quiet we have interrupted.\\nIt seems as if the awful nature of the place\\npresses down upon the soul and hushes the\\nbeholder into noiseless reverence. We feel\\nthat we are surrounded by the congregated\\nbones of the great men of past times, who have\\nfilled history with their deeds and the earth\\nwith their renown.\\nAnd yet it almost provokes a smile at the\\nvanity of human ambition to see how they are\\ncrowded together and jostled in the dust what\\nparsimony is observed in doling out a scanty\\nnook, a gloomy corner, a little portion of earth,\\nto those whom, when alive, kingdoms could\\nnot satisfy, and how many shapes and forms\\nand artifices are devised to catch the casual\\nnotice of the passenger, and save from forget-\\nfulness for a few short years a name which\\nonce aspired to occupy ages of the world s\\nthought and admiration.\\nI passed some time in Poet s Corner, which\\noccupies an end of one of the transepts or cross\\naisles of the abbey. The monuments are gen-\\nerally simple, for the lives of literary men\\nafford no striking themes for the sculptor.\\nShakespeare and Addison have statues erected", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "244 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nto their memories, but the greater part have\\nbusts, medallions, and sometimes mere inscrip-\\ntions. Notwithstanding the simplicity of these\\nmemorials, I have always observed that the\\nvisitors to the abbey remained longest about\\nthem. A kinder and fonder feeling takes place\\nof that cold curiosity or vague admiration with\\nwhich they gaze on the splendid monuments of\\nthe great and the heroic. They linger a.bout\\nthese as about the tombs of friends and com-\\npanions, for indeed there is something of com-\\npanionship between the author and the reader.\\nOther men are known to posterity only through\\nthe medium of history, which is continually\\ngrowing faint and obscure; but the intercourse\\nbetween the author and his fellow-men is ever\\nnew, active and immediate. He has lived for\\nthem more than for himself; he has sacrificed\\nsurrounding enjoyments, and shut himself up\\nfrom the delights of social life, that he might\\nthe more intimately commune with distant\\nminds and distant ages. Well may the world\\ncherish his renown, for it has been purchased\\nnot b} deeds of violence and blood, but by the\\ndiligent dispensation of pleasure. Well may\\nposterity be grateful to his memory, for he has\\nleft it an inheritance not of empty names and\\nsounding actions, but whole treasures of wis-\\ndom, bright gems of thought, and golden veins\\nof language.\\nFrom Poet s Corner I continued my stroll\\ntowards that part of the abbey which contains\\nthe sepulchres of the kings. I wandered\\namong what once were chapels, but which are", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 245\\nnow occupied by the tombs and monuments of\\nthe great. At every turn I met with some\\nillustrious name or the cognizance of some\\npowerful house renowned in history. As the\\neye darts into these dusky chambers of death\\nit catches glimpses of quaint effigies some\\nkneeling in niches, as if in devotion; others\\nstretched upon the tombs, with hands piously\\npressed together; warriors in arm of, as if\\nreposing after battle; prelates, with crosiers\\nand mitres and nobles in robes and coronets,\\nlying as it were in state. In glancing over this\\nscene, so strangely populous, yet where every\\nform is so still and silent, it seems almost as if\\nwe were treading a mansion of that fabled city\\nwhere every being had been suddenly trans-\\nmuted into stone.\\nI paused to contemplete a tomb on which lay\\nthe effigy of a knight in complete armor. A\\nlarge buckler was on one arm; the hands were\\npressed together in supplication upon the\\nbreast; the face was almost covered by the\\nmorion; the legs were crossed, in token of the\\nwarrior s having been engaged in the holy\\nwar. It was the tomb of a crusader, of one of\\nthose military enthusiasts who so strangely\\nmingled religion and romance, and whose\\nexploits form the connecting link between fact\\nand fiction, between the history and the fairy-\\ntale. There is something extremely pictur-\\nesque in the tombs of these adventurers, dec-\\norated as they are with rude armorial bearings\\nand Gothic sculpture. They comport with the\\nantiquated chapels in which they are generally", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "246 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfound; and in considering them the imagina-\\ntion is apt to kindle with the legendary associ-\\nations, the romantic fiction, the chivalrous\\npomp and pageantry which poetry has spread\\nover the wars for the sepulchre of Christ.\\nThey are the relics of times utterly gone by, of\\nbeings passed from recollection, of customs and\\nmanners with which ours have no affinity.\\nThey are like objects from some strange and\\ndistant land of which we have no certain\\nknowledge, and about which all our conceptions\\nare vague and visionar)^ There is something\\nextremely solemn and awful in those effigies\\non Gothic tombs, extended as if in the sleep of\\ndeath or in the supplication of the dying hour.\\nThey have an effect infinitely more impressive\\non my feelings than the fanciful attitudes, the\\nover-wrought conceits, the allegorical groups\\nwhich abound on modern monuments. I have\\nbeen struck, also, with the superiority of many\\nof the old sepulchral inscriptions. There was\\na noble way in former times of saying things\\nsimply, and yet saying them proudly and I do\\nnot know an epitaph that breathes a loftier con-\\nsciousness of family worth and honorable line-\\nage than one which affirms of a noble house\\nthat all the brothers were brave and all the\\nsisters virtuous.\\nIn the opposite transept to Poet s Corner\\nstands a monument which is among the most\\nrenowned achievements of modern art, but\\nwhich to me appears horrible rather than sub-\\nlime. It is the tomb of Mrs. Nightingale, by\\nRoubillac. The bottom of the monument is", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 247\\nrepresented as throwing open its marble doors,\\nand a sheeted skeleton is starting forth. The\\nshroud is falling from his fleshless frame as he\\nlaunches his dart at his victim. She is sinking\\ninto her affrighted husband s arms, who strives\\nwith vain and frantic effort to avert the blow.\\nThe whole is executed with terrible truth and\\nspirit; we almost fancy we hear the gibbering\\nyell of triumph bursting from the distended\\njaws of the spectre. But why should we thus\\nseek to clothe death with unnecessary terrors,\\nand to spread horrors round the tomb of those\\nwe love? The grave should be surrounded\\nby everything that might inspire tenderness\\nand veneration for the dead, or that might\\nwin the living to virtue. It is the place not of\\ndisgust and dismay, but of sorrow and med-\\nitation.\\nWhile wandering about these gloomy vaults\\nand silent aisles, studying the records of the\\ndead, the sound of busy existence from with-\\nout occasionally reaches the ear the rumbling\\nof the passing equipage, the murmur of the\\nmultitude, or perhaps the light laugh of pleas-\\nure. The contrast is striking with the death-\\nlike repose around; and it has a strange effect\\nupon the feelings thus to hear the surges of\\nactive life hurrying along and beating against\\nthe very walls of the sepulchre.\\nI continued in this way to move from tomb\\nto tomb and from chapel to chapel. The day\\nwas gradually wearing away; the distant tread\\nof loiterers about the abbey grew less and less\\nfrequent; the sweet-tongued bell was sum-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "248 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmoning to evening prayers; and I saw at adis^\\ntance the choristers in their white surplices\\ncrossing the aisle and entering the choir. I\\nstood before the entrance to Henry the Sev-\\nenth s chapel. A flight of steps leads up to it\\nthrough a deep and gloomy but magnificent\\narch. Great gates of brass, richly and deli-\\ncately wrought, turn heavily upon their hinges,\\nas if proudly reluctant to admit the feet of\\ncommon mortals into this most gorgeous of\\nsepulchres.\\nOn entering the eye is astonished by the\\npomp of architecture and the elaborate beauty\\nof sculptured detail. The very walls are\\nwrought into universal ornament encrusted\\nwith tracery, and scooped into niches crowded\\nwith the statues of saints and martyrs. Stone\\nseems, by the cunning labor of the chisel, to\\nhave been robbed of its weight and density,\\nsuspended aloft as if by magic, and the fretted\\nroof achieved with the wonderful minuteness\\nand airy security of a cobweb.\\nAlong the sides of the chapel are the lofty\\nstalls of the Knights of the Bath, richly carved\\nof oak, though with the grotesque decorations\\nof Gothic architecture. On the pinnacles of\\nthe stalls are affixed the helmets and crests of\\nthe knights, with their scarfs and swords, and\\nabove them are suspended their banners, em-\\nblazoned with armorial bearings, and contrast-\\ning the splendor of gold and purple and crim-\\nson with the cold ^ray fretwork of the roof.\\nIn the midst of this grand mausoleum stands\\nthe sepulchre of its founder his effigy, with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 249\\nthat of his queen, extended on a sumptuous\\ntomb and the whole surrounded by a superbly-\\nwrought brazen railing.\\nThere is a sad dreariness in this magnifi-\\ncence, this strange mixture of tombs and tro-\\nphies, these emblems of living and aspiring\\nambition, close beside mementos which show\\nthe dust and oblivion in which all must sooner\\nor later terminate. Nothing impresses the\\nmind with a deeper feeling of loneliness than\\nto tread the silent and deserted scene of for-\\nmer throng and pageant. On looking round\\non the vacant stalls of the knights and their\\nesquires, and on the rows of dusty but gor-\\ngeous banners that were once borne before\\nthem, my imagination conjured up the scene\\nwhen this hall was bright with the valor and\\nbeauty of the land, glittering with the splen-\\ndor of jeweled rank and military array, alive\\nwith the tread of many feet and the hum of an\\nadmiring multitude. All had passed away;\\nthe silence of death had settled again upon the\\nplace, interrupted only by the casual chirping\\nof birds, which had found their way into the\\nchapel and built their nests among its friezes\\nand pendants sure signs of solitariness and\\ndesertion.\\nWhen I read the names inscribed on the ban-\\nners, they were those of men scattered far and\\nwide about the world some tossing upon dis-\\ntant seas some under arms in distant lands\\nsome mingling in the busy intrigues of courts\\nand cabinets, all seeking to deserve one more", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "250 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ndistinction in this mansion of shadowy honors\\nthe melancholy reward of a monument.\\nTwo small aisles on each side of this chapel\\npresent a touching instance of the equality of\\nthe grave, which brings down the oppressor to\\na level with the oppressed and mingles the\\ndust of the bitterest enemies together. In one\\nis the sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth; in\\nthe other is that of her victim, the lovely and\\nunfortunate Mary. Not an hour in the day\\nbut some ejaculation of pity is uttered over\\nthe fate of the latter, mingled with indignation\\nat her oppressor. The walls of Elizabeth s\\nsepulchre continually echo with the sighs of\\nsympathy heaved at the grave of her rival.\\nA peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle\\nwhere Mary lies buried. The light strugg les\\ndimly through windows darkened by dust.\\nThe greater part of the place is in deep sha-\\ndow, and the walls are stained and tinted by\\ntime and weather. A marble figure of Mary\\nis stretched upon the tomb, round which is an\\niron railing, much corroded, bearing her na-\\ntional emblem the thistle. I was weary with\\nwandering, and sat down to rest myself by\\nthe monument, revolving in my mind the\\nchequered and disastrous story of poor Mary.\\nThe sound of causal footsteps had ceased\\nfrom the abbey. I could only hear, now and\\nthen, the distant voice of the priest repeating\\nthe evening service and the faint responses of\\nthe choir; these paused for a time, and all was\\nhushed. The stillness, the desertion, and ob-\\nscurity that were gradually prevailing around", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 251\\ngave a deeper and more solemn interest to the\\nplace\\nFor in the silent grave no conversation,\\nNo joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers,\\nNo careful father s counsel nothing s heard,\\nFor nothing is, but all oblivion,\\nDust, and an endless darkness.\\nSuddenly the notes of the deep-laboring\\norgan burst upon the ear falling with doubled\\nand redoubled intensity, and rolling, as it\\nwere, huge billows of sound. How well do\\ntheir volume and grandeur accord with this\\nmighty building! With what pomp do they\\nswell through its vast vaults, and breathe their\\nawful harmony through these caves of death,\\nand make the silent sepulchre vocal! And\\nnow they rise in triumphant acclamation,\\nheaving higher and higher their accordant\\nnotes and piling sound on sound. And now\\nthey pause, and the soft voices of the choir\\nbreak out into sweet gushes of melody they\\nsoar aloft and warble along the roof, and seem\\nto play about these lofty vaults like the pure\\nairs of heaven. Again the pealing organ heaves\\nits thrilling thunders, compressing air into\\nmusic, and rolling it forth upon the soul. What\\nlong-drawn cadences! What solemn sweeping\\nconcords It grows more and more dense and\\npowerful; it fills the vast pile and seems to jar\\nthe very walls the ear is stunned the senses\\nare overwhelmed. And now it is winding up\\nin full jubilee it is rising from the earth to\\nheaven; the very soul seems rapt away and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "252 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfloated upwards on this swelling tide of har-\\nmony.\\nI sat for some time lost in that kind of reverie\\nwhich a strain of music is apt sometimes to\\ninspire the shadows of evening were gradually\\nthickening round me the monuments began\\nto cast deeper and deeper gloom and the dis-\\ntant clock again gave token of the slowly wan-\\ning day.\\nI rose and prepared to leave the abbey. As\\nI descended the flight of steps which lead into\\nthe body of the building, my eye was caught\\nby the shrine of Edward the Confessor, and I\\nascended the small staircase that conducts to it,\\nto take from thence a general survey of this\\nwilderness of tombs. The shrine is elevated\\nupon a kind of platform, and close around it\\nare the sepulchres of various kings and queens..\\nFrom this eminence the eye looks down be-\\ntween pillars and funeral trophies to the chap-\\nels and chambers below, crowded with tombs,\\nwhere warriors, prelates, courtiers, and states-\\nmen lie mouldering in their beds of dark-\\nness. Close by me stood the great chair of\\ncoronation, rudely carved of oak in the barbar-\\nous taste of a remote and Gothic age. The\\nscene seemed almost as if contrived with the-\\natrical artifice to produce an effect upon the\\nbeholder. Here was a type of the beginning\\nand the end of human pomp and power; here\\nit was literally but a step from the throne to\\nthe sepulchre. Would not one think that these\\nincongruous mementos had been gathered to-\\ngether as a lesson to living greatness? to show", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 253\\nit, even in the moment of its proudest exalta.\\ntion, the neglect and dishonor to which it must\\nsoon arrive how soon that crown which en-\\ncircles its brow must pass away; and it must\\nlie down in the dust and disgraces of the tomb,\\nand be trampled upon by the feet of the mean,\\nest of the multitude. For, strange to tell,\\neven the grave is here no longer a sanctuary.\\nThere is a shocking levity in some natureL\\\\\\nwhich leads them to sport with awful and hal-\\nlowed things, and there are base minds which\\ndelight to revenge on the illustrious dead the\\nabject homage and groveling servility which\\nthey pay to the living. The coffin of Edward\\nthe Confessor has been broken open, and his\\nremains despoiled of their funereal ornaments;\\nthe sceptre has been stolen from the hand of\\nthe imperious Elizabeth; and the effigy oi:\\nHenry the Fifth lies headless. Not a roya]\\nmonurrient but bears some proof how false and\\nfugitive is the homage of mankind. Some are\\nplundered, some mutilated, some covered with\\nribaldry and insult, all more or less out-\\nraged and dishonored.\\nThe last beams of day were now faintly\\nstreaming through the painted windows in the\\nhigh vaults above me the lower parts of the\\nabbey were already wrapped in the obscurity\\nof twilight. The chapels and aisles grew\\ndarker and darker. The effigies of the kings\\nfaded into shadows; the marble figures of the\\nnomuments assumed strange shapes in the un-\\ncertain light the evening breeze crept through\\nthe aisles like the cold breath of the orrave;", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "254 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nand even the distant footfall of a verger, trav-\\nersing- the Poet s Corner, had something\\nstrange and dreary in its sound. I slowly re-\\ntraced my morning s walk, and as I passed out\\nat the portal of the cloisters, the door, closing\\nwith a jarring noise behind me, filled the\\nwhole building with echoes.\\nI endeavored to form some arrangement in\\nmy mind of the objects I had been contemplat-\\ning, but found they were already falling into\\nindistinctness and confusion. Names, inscrip-\\ntions, trophies, had all become confounded in\\nmy recollection, though I had scarcely taken\\nmy foot from off the threshold. What, thought\\nI, is this vast assemblage of sepulchres but a\\ntreasury of humiliation a huge pile of reiter-\\nated homilies on the emptiness of renown and\\nthe certainty of oblivion? It is, indeed, the\\nempire of death his* great shadowy palace\\nwhere he sits in state mocking at the relics of\\nhuman glory and spreading dust and forget-\\nfulness on the monuments of princes. How\\nidle a boast, after all, is the immortality of a\\nname Time is ever silently turning over his\\npages; we are too much engrossed by the\\nstory of the present to think of the characters\\nand anecdotes that gave interest to the past;\\nand each age is a volume thrown aside to be\\nspeedily forgotten. The idol of to-day pushes\\nthe hero of yesterday out of our recollection,\\nand will in turn be supplanted by his successor\\nof to-morrow. Our fathers, says Sir Thomas\\nBrowne, find their graves in our short mem-\\nories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 255\\nin our survivors, History fades into fable\\nfact becomes clouded with doubt and contro-\\nversy the inscription moulders from the tab-\\nlet; the statue falls from the pedestal. Col-\\numns, arches, pyramids, what are they but\\nheaps of sand, and their epitaphs but characters\\nwritten in the dust? What is the security of\\na tomb or the perpetuity of an embalmment?\\nThe remains of Alexander the Great have\\nbeen scattered to the wind, and his empty sar-\\ncophagus is now the mere curiosity of a muse-\\num. The Egyptian mummies, which Cam-\\nbyses or time hath spared, avarice now con-\\nsumeth Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh\\nis sold for balsams.\\nWhat then is to ensure this pile which now\\ntowers above me from sharing the fate of\\nmightier mausoleums? The time must come\\nwhen its gilded vaults which now spring so\\nloftily, shall lie in rubbish beneath the feet;\\nwhen instead of the sound of melody and\\npraise the wind shall whistle through the\\nbroken arches and the owl hoot from the shat-\\ntered tower; when the garish sunbeam shall\\nbreak into these gloomy mansions of death,\\nand the ivy twine round the fallen column\\nand the fox-glove hang its blossoms above the\\nnameless urn, as if in mockery of the dead.\\nThus man passes away; his name passes from\\nrecord and recollection his history as a tale\\nthat is told, and his very monument becomes\\na ruin.\\n*Sir T. Browne", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "256 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nCHRISTMAS.\\nBut is old, old, good old Christmas gone? Nothin-?;\\nbut the hair of his good, gray old head and beard left?\\nWell, I will have that, seeing I cannot have more of\\nhim.\\nHue and Cry after Christmas.\\nA man might then behold\\nAt Christmas, in each hall\\nGkxDd fires to curb the cold,\\nAnd meat for great and small.\\nThe neighbors were friendly bidden,\\nAnd all had welcome true,\\nThe poor from the gate were not chidden\\nWhen this old cap was new.\\nOld Song.\\nNothing in England exercises a more de-\\nlightful spell over my imagination than the\\nlingerings of the holiday customs and rural\\ngames of former times. They recall the pic-\\ntures my fancy used to draw in the May morn-\\ning of life, when as yet I only knew the world\\nthrough books, and believed it to be all that\\npoets had painted it and they bring with them\\nthe flavor of those honest da3/s of yore, in\\nwhich, perhaps, with equal fallacy, I am apt\\nto think the world was more homebred, social,\\nand joyous than at present. I regret to say\\nthat they are daily growing more and more\\nfaint, being gradually worn away by time.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 25T\\nbut still more obliterated by modern fashion.\\nThey resemble those picturesque morsels of\\nGothic architecture which we see crumbling in\\nvarious parts of the country, partly diplia-\\ndated by the waste of ages and partl}^ lost in\\nthe additions and alterations of latter days.\\nPoetry, however, clings with cherishing fond-\\nness about the rural game and holiday revel\\nfrom which it has derived so many of its\\nthemes, as the ivy winds its rich foliage about\\nthe Gothic arch and mouldering tower, grate-\\nfully repaying their support by clasping to-\\ngether their tottering remains, and, as it were,\\nembalming them in verdure.\\nOf all the old festivals, however, that of\\nChristmas awakens the strongest and most\\nheartfelt associations. There is a tone of\\nsolemn and sacred feeling that blends with our\\nconviviality, and lifts the spirit to a state of\\nhallowed and elevated enjoyment. The ser-\\nvices of the Church about this season are ex-\\ntremely tender and inspiring. They dwell on\\nthe beautiful stor) of the origin of our faith\\nand the pastoral scenes that accompanied its\\nannouncement. They gradually increase in\\nfervor and pathos during the season of Advent,\\nuntil they break forth in full jubilee on the\\nmorning that brought peace and good-will to\\nmen. I do not know of a grander effect of\\nmusic on the moral feelings than to hear the\\nfull choir and the pealing organ performing a\\nChristmas anthem in a cathedral, and filling\\nevery part of the vast pile with triumphant\\nharmony.\\n17 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "258 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nIt is a beautiful arrangement, also, derived\\nfrom days of yore, that this festival, which\\ncommemorates the announcement of the\\nreligion of peace and love, has been made the\\nseason for gathering together of family con-\\nnections, and drawing closer again those bands\\nof kindred hearts which the cares and pleas-\\nures and sorrows of the world are continually\\noperating to cast loose; of calling back the\\nchildren of a family who have launched forth\\nin life and wandered wildly asunder, once more\\nto assemble about the paternal hearth, that\\nrallying-place of the affections, there to grow\\nyoung and loving again among the endearing\\nmementos of childhood.\\nThere is something in the very season of the\\nyear that gives a charm to the festivity of\\nChristmas. At other times we derive a great\\nportion of our pleasures from the mere\\nbeauties of Nature. Our feelings sally forth\\nand dissipate themselves over the sunny land-\\nscape, and we live abroad and everywhere.\\nThe song of the bird, the murmur of the\\nstream, the breathing fragrance of spring, the\\nsoft voluptuousness of summer, the golden\\npomp of autumn, earth with its mantle of re-\\nfreshing green, and heaven with its deep de-\\nlicious blue and its cloudy magnificence, all\\nfill us with mute but exquisite delight^ and we\\nrevel in the luxury of mere sensation. But in\\nthe depth of winter, when Nature lies de-\\nspoiled of every charm and wrapped in her\\nshroud of sheeted snow, we turn for our grati-\\nfications to moral sources. The dreariness", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 259\\nand desolation of the landscape, the short\\ngloomy days and darksome nights, while they\\ncircumscribe our wanderings, shut in our feel-\\nings also from rambling abroad, and make us\\nmore keenly disposed for the pleasure of the\\nsocial circle. Our thoughts are more concen-\\ntrated our friendly sympathies more aroused.\\nWe feel more sensibly the charm of each\\nother s society, and are brought more closely\\ntogether by dependence on each other for en-\\njoyment. Heart calleth unto heart, and we\\ndraw our pleasures from the deep wells of lov-\\ning-kindness which lie in the quiet recesses of\\nour bosoms, and which, when resorted to,\\nfurnish forth the pure element of domestic\\nfelicity.\\nThe pitchy gloom without makes the heart\\ndilate on entering the room filled with the glow\\nand warmth of the evening fire. The ruddy\\nblaze diffuses an artificial summer and sunshine\\nthrough the room, and lights up each counte-\\nnance in a kindlier welcome. Where does the\\nhonest face of hospitality expand into a\\nbroader and more cordial smile, where is the\\nshy glance of love more sweetly eloquent,\\nthan by the winter fireside? and as the hollow\\nblast of wintry winds rushes through the hall,\\nclaps the distant door, whistles about the case-\\nment, and rumbles down the chimney, what\\ncan be more grateful than that feeling of\\nsober and sheltered security with which we\\nlook round upon the comfortable chamber and\\nthe scene of domestic hilarity?\\nThe English, from the great prevalence of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "260 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nrural habit throughout every class of society,\\nhave always been fond of those festivals and\\nholidays, which agreeably interrupt the still-\\nness of country life, and they were, in former\\ndays, particularly observant of the religious\\nand social rites of Christmas. It is inspiring,\\nto read even the dry details which some anti-\\nquaries have given of the quaint humors, the\\nburlesque pageants, the complete abandon-\\nment to mirth and good-fellowship with which\\nthis festival was celebrated. It seemed to\\nthrow open every door and unlock every\\nheart. It brought the peasant and the peer\\ntogether, and blended all ranks in one warm,\\ngenerous flow of joy and kindness. The old\\nhalls of castles and manor-houses resounded\\nwith the harp and the Christmas carol, and\\ntheir ample boards groaned under the weight\\nof hospitality. Even the poorest cottage wel-\\ncomed the festive season with green decora-\\ntions of bay and holly the cheerful fire\\nglanced its rays through the lattice, inviting\\nthe passengers to raise the latch and join the\\ngossip knot huddled round the hearth beguil-\\ning the long evening with legendary jokes and\\noft-told Christmas tales.\\nOne of the least pleasing effects of modern\\nrefinement is the havoc it has made among the\\nhearty old holiday customs. It has completely\\ntaken off the sharp touchings and spirited re-\\nliefs of these embellishments of life, and has\\nworn down socity into a more smooth and pol-\\nished, but certainl}^ a less characteristic surface.\\nMany of the games and ceremonials of Christ-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 261\\nmas have entirely disappeared, and, like the\\nsherris sack of old Falstaff, are become mat-\\nters of speculation and dispute among com-\\nmentators. They flourished in times full of\\nspirit and lustihood, when men enjoyed life\\nroughly, but heartily and vigorously times\\nwild and picturesque, which have furnished\\npoetry with its richest materials and the\\ndrama with its most attractive variety of\\ncharacters and manners. The world has be-\\ncome more worldly. There is more of dissi-\\npation, and less of enjoyment. Pleasure has\\nexpanded into a broader, but a shallower\\nstream, and has forsaken many of those deep\\nand quiet channels where it flowed sweetly\\nthrough the calm bosom of domestic life. So-\\nciety has acquired a more enlightened and ele-\\ngant tone, but it has lost many of its strong\\nlocal peculiarities, its homebred feelings, its\\nhonest fireside delights. The traditionary cus-\\ntoms of golden-hearted antiquity, its feudal\\nhospitalities, and lordly wassailings, have\\npassed away with the baronial castles and\\nstately manor-houses in which they were cele-\\nbrated. They comported with the shadowy\\nhall, the great oaken gallery, and the tapes-\\ntried parlor, but are unfitted to the light showy\\nsaloons and gay drawing-rooms of the modern\\nvilla.\\nShorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and\\nfestive honors, Christmas is still a period of\\ndelightful excitement in England. It is grat-\\nifying to see that home-feeling completely\\naroused which holds so powerful a place in", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "262 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nevery English bosom. The preparations mak-\\ning on every side for the social board that is\\nagain to unite friends and kindred the pres-\\nents of good cheer passing and repassing, those\\ntokens of regard and quickeners of kind feel-\\nings the evergreens distributed about houses\\nand churches, emblems of peace and gladness,\\nall these have the most pleasing effect in\\nproducing fond associations and kindling\\nbenevolent sympathies. Even the sound of\\nthe Waits, rude as may be their minstrelsy,\\nbreaks upon the mid-watches of a winter night\\nwith the effect of perfect harmony. As I have\\nbeen awakened by them in that still and\\nsolemn hour when deep sleep falleth upon\\nman, I have listened with a hushed delight,\\nand, connecting them with the sacred and joy-\\nous occasion, have almost fancied them into\\nanother celestial choir announcing peace and\\ngood-will to mankind.\\nHow delightfully the imagination, when\\nwrought upon by these moral influences, turns\\neverything to melody and beauty! The very\\ncrowing of the cock, heard sometimes in the\\nprofound repose of the country, telling the\\nnight-watches to his feathery dames, was\\nthought by the common people to announce\\nthe approach of this sacred festival.\\nSome say that ever gamst that season comes\\nWherein our Savior s birth is celebrated,\\nThis bird of dawning singeth all night long;\\nAnd then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad\\nThe nights are wholesome then no planets strike,\\nNo fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm,\\nSo hallow d and so gracious is the time.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 263\\nAmidst the general call to happiness, the bus-\\ntle of the spirits, and stir of the affections\\nwhich prevail at this period what bosom can\\nremain insensible? It is, indeed, the season\\nof regenerated feeling the season for kindling\\nnot merely the fire of hospitality in the hall,\\nbut the genial flame of charity in the heart.\\nThe scene of early love again rises green to\\nmemory beyond the sterile waste of years;\\nand the idea of home, fraught with the frag-\\nrance of home-dwelling joys, reanimates the\\ndrooping spirit, as the Arabian breeze will\\nsometimes waft the freshness of the distant\\nfields to the weary pilgrim of the desert.\\nStranger and sojourner as I am in the land,\\nthough for me no social hearth may blaze, no\\nhospitable roof throw open its doors, nor the\\nwarm grasp of friendship welcome me at the\\nthreshold, yet I feel the influence of the\\nseason beaming into my soul from the happy\\nlooks of those around me. Surely happiness\\nis reflective, like the light of heaven, and\\nevery countenance, bright with smiles and\\nglowing with innocent enjoyment, is a mirror\\ntransmitting to others the rays of a supreme\\nand ever- shining benevolence. He who can\\nturn churlishly away from contemplating\\nthe felicity of his fellow- beings, and can sit\\ndown darkling and repining in his loneliness\\nwhen all around is joyful, may have his mo-\\nments of strong excitement and selfish gratifi-\\ncation, but he wants the genial and social\\nsympathies which constitute the charm of a\\nmerry Christmas.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "264 THE SKETCH BOOK-\\nTHE STAGE-COAGH.\\nOmne bene\\nSine poena\\nTempua est ludendi.\\nVenit hora\\nAbsque mora\\nLibros deponendi.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Old Holiday School- Song.\\nIn the preceding paper I have made some\\ngeneral observations on the Ghristmas festiv-\\nities of England, and am tempted to illustrate\\nthem by some anecdotes of a Christmas passed\\nin the country in perusing which I would most\\ncourteously invite my reader to lay aside the\\nausterity of wisdom, and to put on that gen-\\nuine holiday spirit which is tolerant of folly\\nand anxious only for amusement.\\nIn the course of a December tour in York-\\nshire, I rode for a long distance in one of the\\npublic coaches on the day preceding Christmas.\\nThe coach was crowded, both inside and out,\\nwith passengers who, by their talk, seemed\\nprincipally bound to the mansions of relations\\nor friends to eat the Christmas dinner. It\\nwas loaded also with hampers of game and\\nbaskets and boxes of delicacies, and hares hung\\ndangling their long ears about the coachman s\\nbox, presents from distant friends for the\\nimpending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "Stoke Pogis Church.\\nbketrh Book,\\n-Page 14 J", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 265\\nschool-bo5^s for my fellow-passengers inside,\\nfull of the buxom health and manly spirit\\nwhich I have observed in the children of this\\ncountry. They were returning home for the\\nholidays in high glee, and promising them-\\nselves a world of enjoyment. It was delightful\\nto hear the gigantic plans of the little rogues,\\nand the impracticable feats they were to per-\\nform during their six weeks emancipation from\\nthe abhorred thraldom of book, birch, and ped-\\nagogue. They were full of anticipations of the\\nmeeting with the family and household, down\\nto the very cat and dog, and of the joy they\\nwere to give their little sisters by the presents\\nwith which their pockets were crammed; but\\nthe meeting to which they seemed to look for-\\nward with the greatest impatience was with\\nBantam, which I found to be a pony, and,\\naccording to their talk, possessed of more vir-\\ntues than any steed since the days of Bu-\\ncephalus. How he could trot! how he could\\nrun and then such leaps as he would take\\nthere was not a hedge in the whole country\\nthat he could not clear.\\nThey were under the particular guardianship\\nof the coachman, to whom, whenever an oppor-\\ntunity presented, they addressed a host of\\nquestions, and pronounced him one of the best\\nfellows in the Vv^orld. Indeed, I could not but\\nnotice the more than ordinary air of bustle and\\nimportance of the coachman, who wore his hat\\na little on one side and had a large bunch of\\nChristmas greens stuck in the buttonhole of his\\ncoat. He is always a personage full of mighty\\n18 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "266 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ncare and bnsiness, but he is particularly so dur-\\ning this season, having so many commissions\\nto execute in consequence of the great inter-\\nchange of presents. And here, perhaps, it\\nmay not be unacceptable to my untraveled\\nreaders to have a sketch that may serve as a\\ngeneral representation of this very numerous\\nand important class of functionaries, who have\\na dress, a manner, a language, an air peculiar\\nto themselves and prevalent throughout the\\nfraternity; so that whenever an Eng-\\nlish stage-coachman may be seen he cannot be\\nmistaken for one of any other craft or mystery.\\nHe has commonly a broad, full face, curiously\\nmottled with red, as if the blood had been\\nforced by hard feeding into every vessel of the\\nskin; he is swelled into jolly dimensions by\\nfrequent potations of malt liquors, and his bulk\\nis still further increased by a multiplicity of\\ncoats, in which he is buried like a cauliflower,\\nthe upper one reaching to his heels. He wears\\na broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat; a huge roll\\nof colored handkerchief about his neck, know-\\ningly knotted and tucked in at the bosom and\\nhas in summer-time a large bouquet of flowers\\nin his buttonhole, the present, most probably,\\nof some enamored country lass. His waistcoat\\nis commonly of some bright color, striped, and\\nhis small-clothes extend far below the knees,\\nto meet a pair of jockey boots which reach about\\nhalfway up his legs.\\nAll this costume is maintained with much\\nprecision; he has a pride in having his clothes\\nof excellent materials, and, notwithstanding", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 267\\nthe seeming grossness of his appearance, there\\nis still discernible that neatness and proprietjr\\nof person which is almost inherent in an Eng-\\nlishman. He enjoys great consequence and\\nconsideration along the road; has frequent\\nconferences with the village housewives, who\\nlook upon him as a man of great trust and\\ndependence; and he seems to have a good\\nunderstanding with every bright-eyed country-\\nlass. The moment he arrives where the horses\\nare to be changed, he throws down the reins\\nwith something of an air and abandons the\\ncattle to the care of the ostler, his duty being\\nmerely to drive from one stage to another.\\nWhen off the box his hands are thrust into the\\npockets of his great coat, and he rolls about\\nthe inn-yard with an air of the most absolute\\nlordliness. Here he is generally surrounded\\nby an admiring throng of ostlers, stable-boys,\\nshoeblacks, and those nameless hangers-on\\nthat infest inns and taverns, and run errands\\nand do all kinds of odd jobs for the privilege of\\nbattening on the drippings of the kitchen and\\nthe leakage of the tap-room. These all look\\nup to him as to an oracle, treasure up his cant\\nphrases, echo his opinions about horses and\\nother topics of jockey lore, and, above all,\\nendeavor to im.itate his air and carriage. Every\\nragamuffin that has a coat to his back thrusts\\nhis hands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks\\nslang, and is an embryo Coachey.\\nPerhaps it might be owing to the pleasing-\\nserenity that reigned in my own mind that I\\nfancied I saw cheerfulness in every counte-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "268 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nnance throughout the journey. A stage-coach,\\nhowever, carries animation always with it, and\\nputs the world in motion as it whirls along.\\nThe horn, sounded at the entrance of the vil-\\nlage, produces a general bustle. Some hasten\\nforth to meet friends; some with bundles and\\nbandboxes to secure places, and in the hurry\\nof the moment can hardly take leave of the\\ngroup that accompanies them. In the mean-\\ntime the coachman has a world of small com-\\nmissions to execute. Sometimes he delivers\\na hare or pheasant; sometimes jerks a small\\nparcel or newspaper to the door of a public\\nhouse and sometimes, with knowing leer and\\nwords of sly import, hands to some half-blush-\\ning, half-laughing housemaid and odd-shaped\\nbillet-doux from some rustic admirer. As the\\ncoach rattles through the village every one\\nruns to the window, and you have glances on\\nevery side of fresh country faces and blooming\\ngiggling girls. At the. corners are assembled\\njuntos of village idlers and wise men, who take\\ntheir stations there for the important purpose\\nof seeing company pass but the sagest knot\\nis generally at the blacksmith s, to whom the\\npassing of the coach is an even fruitful of much\\nspeculation. The smith, with the horse s heel\\nin his lap, pauses as the vehicle whirls by; the\\nCyclops round the anvil suspend their ringing\\nhammers and suffer the iron to grow cool and\\nthe sooty spectre in brown paper cap laboring\\nat the bellows leans on the handle for a\\nmoment, and permits the asthmetic engine to\\nheave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 269\\nthrough the murky smoke and sulphurous\\ngleams of the smithy.\\nPerhaps the impending holiday might have\\ngiven a more than usual animation to the coun-\\ntry, for it seemed to me as if everybody was in\\ngood looks and good spirits. Game, poultry,\\nand other luxuries of the table were in brisk\\ncirculation in the villages; the grocers\\nbutchers and fruiters shops were thronged\\nwith customers. The housewives were stirring\\nbriskly about, putting their dwellings in order,\\nand the glossy branches of holly with their\\nbright-red berries began to appear at the win-\\ndows. The scene brought to mind an old\\nwriter s account of Christmas preparation:\\nNow capons and hens, besides turkeys, geese,\\nand ducks, with beef and mutton, must all die,\\nfor in twelve days a multitude of people will\\nnot be fed with a little. Now plums and\\nspice, sugar and honey, square it among pies\\nand broth. Now or never must music be in\\ntune, for the youth must dance and sing to get\\nthem a heat, while the aged sit by the fire.\\nThe country maid leaves half her market, and\\nmust be sent again if she forgets a pack of\\ncards on Christmas Eve. Great is the conten-\\ntion of holly and ivy whether master or dame\\nwears the breeches. Dice and cards benefit the\\nbutler; and if the cook do not lack wit, he will\\nsweetly lick his fingers.\\nI was roused from this fit of luxurious medi-\\ntation by a shout from my little traveling com-\\npanions. They had been looking out of the\\ncoach-windows for the last few miles, recogniz-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "270 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\niMg every tree and cottag e as they approached\\nhome, and now there was a general burst of\\njoy. There s John! and there s old Carlo!\\nand there s Bantam! cried the happy little\\nSjognes, clapping their hands.\\nAt the end of a lane there was an old sober-\\nlooking servant in livery waiting for them he\\n^^as accompanied by a superannuated pointer\\nwnd by the redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat\\nmi a pony with a shaggy mane and long rusty\\ntail, who stood dozing quietly by the roadside,,\\nlittle dreaming of the bustling times that\\nawaited him.\\nI was pleased to see the fondness with which\\nlittle fellows leaped about the steady old\\nf\u00c2\u00ae\u00c2\u00bbtnian and hugged the pointer, who wriggled\\nhm whole body for joy. But Bantam was the\\ng;reat object of interest; all wanted to mount\\nssX once, and it was with some difficulty that\\nJohn arranged that they should ride by turns\\nand the eldest should ride first.\\nOff they set at last, one on the pony, with\\nthe dog bounding and barking before him, and\\ntine others holding John s hands, both talking\\nat once and overpowering him with questions\\natjsomt home and with school anecdotes. I\\nloo ked after them with a feeling in which I do\\nmtjt know whether pleasure or melancholy pre-\\n^mmmsited for I was reminded of those days\\nwiiieii, like them, I had known neither care nor\\nsiMTow and a holiday was the summit of earthly\\nfsdltcity. We stopped a few moments after-\\nawards to water the horses, and on resuming\\n^UT route a turn of the road brought us in", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 271\\nsight of a neat country-seat. I could just dis-\\ntinguish the forms of a lady and two young\\ngirls in the portico, and I saw my little com-\\nrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old John,\\ntrooping along the carriage-road. I leaned out\\nof the coach- window, in hopes of witnessing\\nthe happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut\\nit from my sight.\\nIn the evening we reached a village where\\nI had determined to pass the night. As we\\ndrove into the great gateway of the inn, I saw\\non one side the light of a rousing kitchen-fire\\nbeaming through a window. I entered, and\\nadmired, for the hundredth time, that picture\\nof convenience, neatness, and broad honest\\nenjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. It\\nwas of spacious dimensions, hung around with\\ncopper and tin vessels, highly polished, and\\ndecorated here and there with a Christmas\\ngreen. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon\\nwere suspended from the ceiling, a smoke- jack\\nmade its ceaseless clankine beside the fire-\\nplace, and a clock ticked in one corner. A\\nwell-scoured deal table extended along one side\\nof the kitchen, with a cold round of beef and\\nother hearty viands upon it, over which two\\nfoaming tankards of ale seemed mounting\\nguard. Travelers of inferior order were pre-\\nparing to attack this stout repast, while others\\nsat smoking and gossiping over their ale on two\\nhigh-backed oaken settles beside the fire.\\nTrim housemaids were hurrying backwards\\nand forwards under the directions of a fresh\\nbustling landlady, but still seizing an occa-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "272 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nsional moment to exchange a flippant word and\\nhave a rallying laugh with the group round the\\nfire. The scene completely realized Poor\\nRobin s humble idea of the comforts of mid-\\nwinter\\nNow trees their leafy hats do bare\\nTo reverence Winter s silver hair;\\nA handsome hostess, merry host,\\nA pot of ale now and a toast,\\nTobacco and a good coal fire.\\nAre things this season doth require,*\\nI had not been long at the inn when a post-\\nchaise drove up to the door. A young gentle-\\nman stepped out, and by the light of the lamps\\nI caught a glimpse of a countenance which I\\nthought I knew. I moved forward to- get a\\nnearer view, when his eye caught mine. I\\nwas not mistaken it was Frank Bracebridge,\\na sprightly, good-humored young fellow with\\nwhom I had once traveled on the Continent.\\nOur meeting was extremely cordial, for the\\ncountenance of an old fellow-traveler always\\nbrings up the recollection of a thousand pleas-\\nant scenes, odd adventures, and excellent\\njokes. To discuss all these in a transient in-\\nterview at an inn was impossible; and, finding\\nthat I was not pressed for time and was merely\\nmaking a tour of observation, he insisted that\\nI should give him a day or two at his father s\\ncountry seat, to which he was going to pass\\nthe holidays and which lay at a few miles dis-\\ntance. It is better than eating a solitary\\nChristmas dinner at an inn, said he, and I\\n*Poor Robin s Almanack, 1684.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 273\\ncan assure you of a hearty welcome in some-\\nthing of the old-fashioned style. His reason-\\ning was cogent, and I must confess the prepar-\\nation I had seen for universal festivity and\\nsocial enjoyment had made me feel a little im-\\npatient of my loneliness. I closed, therefore,\\nat once with his invitation the chaise drove\\nup to the door, and in a few moments I was\\non my way to the family mansion of the Brace-\\nbridges.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "274 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nCHRISTMAS EVE.\\nSaint Francis and Saint Benedight\\nBlesse this house from wicked wight\\nFrom the night-mare and the goblin,\\nThat is hight good fellow Robin\\nKeep it from all evil spirits,\\nFairies, weasels, rats and ferrets\\nFrom curfew time\\nTo the next prime.\\nCartwright-\\nIt was a brilliant moonlight night, but ex-\\ntremely cold our chaise whirled rapidly over\\nthe frozen ground; the postboy smacked his\\nwhip incessantly, and a part of the time his\\nhorses were on a gallop. He knows where\\nhe is going, said my companion, laughing,\\nand is eager to arrive in time for some of the\\nmerriment and good cheer of the servants\\nhall. My father, you must know, is a bigoted\\ndevotee of the old school, and prides himself\\nupon keeping up something of old English hos-\\npitality. He is a tolerable specimen of what\\nyou will rarely meet with nowadays in its pur-\\nity, the old English country gentleman; for\\nour men of fortune spend so much of their\\ntime in town, and fashion is carried so much\\ninto the country, that the strong rich peculi-\\narities of ancient rural life are almost polished\\naway. My father, however, from early years,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 275\\ntook honest Peacham* for his text-book, in-\\nstead of Chesterfield; he determined in his\\nown mind that there was no condition more\\ntruly honorable and enviable than that of a\\ncoimtry gentleman on his paternal lands, and,\\ntherefore, passes the whole of his time on his\\nestate. He is a strenuous advocate for the re-\\nvival of the old rural games and holiday obser-\\nvances, and is deeply read in the writers,\\nancient and modern, who have treated on the\\nsubject. Indeed, his favorite range of reading\\nis among the authors who flourished at least\\ntwo centuries since, who, he insists, wrote and\\nthought more like true Englishmen than any\\nof their successors. He even regrets some-\\ntimes that he had not been born a few centur-\\nies earlier, when England was itself and had\\nits peculiar manners and customs. As he lives\\nat some distance from the main road, in rather\\na lonely part of the country, without any rival\\ngentry near him,, he has that most enviable of\\nall blessings to an Englishman an opportu-\\nnity of indulging the bent of his own humor\\nwithout molestation. Being representative of\\nthe oldest family in the neighborhood, and a\\ngreat part of the peasantry being his tenants,\\nhe is much looked up to, and in general is\\nknown simply by the appellation of The\\nSquire a title which has been accorded to the\\nhead of the family since time immemorial. I\\nthink it best to give you these hints about my\\nworthy old father, to prepare you for any\\n*Peachara s Complete Gentlemen, 1622.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "276 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\neccentricities that might otherwise appear\\nabsurd.\\nWe had passed for some time along the wall\\nof a park, and at length the chaise stopped at\\nthe gate. It was in a heavy, magnificent old\\nstyle, of iron bars fancifnlly wrought at top\\ninto flourishes and flowers. The huge square\\ncolumns that supported the gate were sur-\\nmounted by the family crest. Close adjoining\\nwas the porter s lodge, sheltered under dark fir\\ntrees and almost buried in shrubbery.\\nThe postboy rang a large porter s bell which\\nresounded through the still frosty air, and was\\nanswered by the distant barking of dogs, with\\nwhich the mansion-house seemed garrisoned.\\nAn old v/oman immediately appeared at the\\ngate. As the moonlight fell strongly upon\\nher, I had a full view of a little primitive\\ndame, dressed very much in the antique taste,\\nwith a neat kerchief and stomacher, and her\\nsilver hair peeping from under a cap of snowy\\nwhiteness. She came curtseying forth, with\\nmany expressions of simple joy at seeing her\\nyoung master. Her husband, it seemed, was\\nup at the house keeping Christmas Eve in the\\nservants hall; they could not do without him,\\nas he was the best hand at a song and story in\\nthe household.\\nMy friend proposed that we should alight\\nand walk through the park to the hall, which\\nwas at no great distance, while the chaise\\nshould follow on. Our road wound through a\\nnoble avenue of trees, among the naked\\nbranches of which the moon glittered as she", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "THE, SKETCH BOOK. 27-3\\nrolled through the deep vault of a cloudless\\nsky. The lawn be3^ond was sheeted with a\\nslight covering of snow, which here and there\\nsparkled as the moonbeams caught a frosty\\ncrystal, and at a distance might be seen a thin\\ntransparent vapor stealing up from the low\\ngrounds and threatening gradually to shroud\\nthe landscape.\\nMy companion looked around him with\\ntransport. How often, said he, have I\\nscampered up this avenue on returning home\\non school vacations! How often have I played\\nunder these trees when a boy! I feel a degree\\nof filial reverence for them, as we look up to\\nthose who have cherished us in childhood.\\nMy father was always scrupulous in exacting\\nour holidays and having us around him on fam-\\nily festivals. He used to direct and superin-\\ntend our games with the strictness that some\\nparents do the studies of their children. He\\nwas very particular that we should play the\\nold English games according to their original\\nform, and consulted old books for precedent\\nand authorit}^ for every merrie disport yet\\nI assure you there never was pedantry so de-\\nlightful. It was the policy of the good old\\ngentleman to make his children feel that home\\nwas the happiest place in the world and I\\nvalue this delicious home- feeling as one of the\\nchoicest gifts a parent could bestow.\\nWe were interrupted by the clamor of a troop\\nof dogs of all sorts and sizes, mongrel, puppy,\\nwhelp, and hound, and curs of low degree,\\nthat, disturbed by the ring of the, porter s bell", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "278 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nand the rattling of the chaise, came bounding,\\nopen-mouthed, across the lawn.\\nThe little dogs and all,\\nTray, Blanch and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me!\\ncried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of\\nhis voice the bark was changed into a yelp of\\ndelight, and in a moment he was surrounded\\nand almost overpowered by the caresses of the\\nfaithful animals.\\nWe had now come in full view of the old\\nfamily mansion, partly thrown in deep shadow\\nand partly lit up by the cold moonshine. It\\nwas an irregular building of some magnitude,\\nand seemed to be of the architecture of differ-\\nent periods. One wing was evidently very\\nancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow win-\\ndows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from\\namong the foliage of which the small diamond-\\nshaped panes of glass glittered with the moon-\\nbeams. The rest of the house was in the\\nFrench taste of Charles the Second s time, hav-\\ning been repaired and altered, as my friend\\ntold me, by one of his ancestors who returned\\nwith that monarch at the Restoration. The\\ngrounds about the house were laid out in the\\nold formal manner of artificial flower-beds,\\nclipped shrubberies, raised terraces, and heavy\\nstone balustrades, ornamented with urns, a\\nleaden statue or two, and a jet of water. The\\nold gentleman, I was told, was extremely care-\\nful to preserve this obsolete finery in all its\\noriginal state. He admired this fashion in\\ngardening; it had an air of magnificence, was", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 279\\ncourtly and noble, and befiting good old family\\nstyle. The boasted imitation of Nature in\\nmodern gardening had sprung up with modern\\nrepublican notions but did not suit, a monarch-\\nical government it smacked of the leveling\\nsystem. I could not help smiling at this intro-\\nduction of politics into gardening, though I\\nexpressed some apprehension that I should find\\nthe old gentleman rather intolerant in his\\ncreed. Frank assured me, however, that it\\nwas almost the only instance in which he had\\never heard his father meddle with politics;\\nand he believed that he had got this notion\\nfrom a member of Parliament who once passed\\na few weeks with him. The squire was glad\\nof any argument .to defend his clipped yew-\\ntrees and formal terraces, which had been oc-\\ncasionally attacked by modern landscape gar-\\ndeners.\\nAs we approached the house we heard the\\nsound of music, and now and then a burst of\\nlaughter from one end of the building. This,\\nBracebridge said, must proceed from the ser-\\nvants hall, where a great deal of revelry was\\npermitted, and even encouraged, by the squire\\nthroughout the twelve days of Christmas, pro-\\nvided everything was done conformably to an-\\ncient usage. Here were kept up the old games\\nof hood man blind, shoe the wild mare, hot cock-\\nles, steal the white loaf, bob apple, and snap\\ndragon; the Yule-clog and Christmas candle\\nwere regularly burnt, and the mistletoe with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "280 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nits white berries hung up, to the imminent\\nperil of all the pretty housemaids.\\nSo intent were the servants upon their sports\\nthat we had to ring repeatedly before we could\\nmake ourselves heard. On our arrival being\\nannounced the squire came out to receive us,\\naccompanied by his two other sons one a\\nyoung officer in the army, home on a leave of\\nabsence the other an Oxonian, just from the\\nuniversity. The squire was a fine healthy look-\\ning old gentleman, with silver hair curling\\nlightly around an open florid countenance, in\\nwhich the physiognomist, with the advantage,\\nlike myself, of a previous hint or two, might\\ndiscover a singular mixture of whim and\\nbenevolence.\\nThe family meeting was warm and affect\\ntionate; as the evening was far advanced, the\\nsquire would not permit us to change our\\ntraveling dresses, but ushered us at once to\\nthe company, which was assembled in a large\\nold-fashioned hall. It was composed of differ-\\nent branches of a numerous family connec-\\ntion, where there were the usual proportion of\\nold uncles and aunts, comfortable married\\ndames, superannuated spinsters, blooming\\ncountry cousins, half-fledged striplings, and\\nbright-eyed boarding-school hoydens. They\\nwere variously occupied some at a round\\nThe mistletoe is still hung up in farm houses and\\nkitchens at Christmas, and the young men have the\\nprivilege of kissing the girls under it, plucking each\\ntime a ^berry from the bush. When the berries are all\\nplucked the privilege ceases.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 281\\ngame of cards others conversing around the\\nfireplace; at one end of the hall was a group\\nof the young folks, some nearly grown up,\\nothers of a more tender and budding age,\\nfully engrossed by a merry game and a pro-\\nfusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and\\ntattered dolls about the floor showed traces\\nof a troop of little fairy beings who, having\\nfrolicked through a happy day, had been\\ncarried off to slumber through a peaceful\\nnight.\\nWhile the mutual greetings were going on\\nbetween young Bracebridge and his relatives\\nI had time to scan the apartment. I have\\ncalled it a hall, for so it had certainly been in\\nold times, and the squire had evidently en-\\ndeavored to restore it to something of its prim-\\nitive state. Over the heavy projecting fire-\\nplace was suspended a picture of a warrior in\\narmor, standing by a white horse, and on the\\nopposite wall hung a helmet, buckler, and\\nlance. At one end an enormous pair of ant-\\nlers were inserted in the wall, the branches\\nserving as hooks on which to suspend hats,\\nwhips, and spurs, and in the corners of the\\napartment were fowling-pieces, fishing-rods,\\nand other sporting implements. The furni-\\nture was of the cumbrous workmanship of for-\\nmer days, though some articles of modern con-\\nvenience had been added and the oaken floor\\nhad been carpeted, so that the whole presented\\nan odd mixture of parlor and hall.\\nThe grate had been removed from the wide\\noverwhelming fireplace to make way for a", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "282 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfire of wood, in the midst of which was an\\nenormous log glowing and blazing, and send-\\ning forth a vast volume of light and heat this,\\nI understood, was the Yule-clog, which the\\nsquire was particular in having brought in and\\nilluminated on a Christmas Eve, according\\nto ancient custom.*\\nIt was really delightful to see the old squire\\nseated in his hereditary elbow-chair by the\\nhospitable fireside of his ancestors, and look-\\ning around him like the sun of a system, beam-\\ning warmth and gladness to every heart. Even\\nthe very dog that lay stretched at his feet, as\\nThe Yule-clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the\\nroot of a tree, brought into the house with great cere-\\nmony on Christmas Eve, laid in the fire-place, and\\nlighted with the brand of last year s clog. While it\\nlasted there was great drinking, singing, and telling of\\ntales. Sometimes it was accompanied by Christmas\\ncandles but in the cottages the only light was from the\\nruddy blaze of the great wood fire. The Yule-clog was\\nto burn all night if it went out. it was considered a\\nsign of ill-luck.\\nHerrick mentions it in one of his songs:\\nCome, bring with a noise,\\nMy merrie, merrie boys.\\nThe Christmas Log to the firing\\nWhile my good dame, she\\nBids ye all be free,\\nAnd drink to your hearts desiring.\\nThe Yule-clog is still burnt in many farm-houses and\\nkitchens in England, particularly in the north, and\\nthere are several superstitions connected with it among\\nthe peasantry. If a squinting person come to the house\\nwhile it is burning, or a person barefooted, it is consid-\\nered an ill omen. The brand remaining from the Yule-\\nclog is carefully put away to light the next year s Christ-\\nmas fire.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 283\\nhe lazily shifted his position and yawned\\nwould look fondly up in his master s face, wag\\nhis tail against the floor, and stretch himself\\nagain to sleep, confident of kindness and pro-\\ntection. There is an emanation from the heart\\nin genuine hospitality which cannot be de-\\nscribed, but is immediately felt and puts the\\nstranger at once at his ease. I had not been\\nseated many minutes by the comfortable\\nhearth of the worthy old cavalier before I\\nfound myself as much at home as if I had been\\none of the family.\\nSupper was announced shortly after our\\narrival. It was served up in a spacious oaken\\nchamber, the panels of which shone with wax,\\nand around which were several family por-\\ntraits decorated with holly and ivy. Besides\\nthe accustomed lights, two great wax tapers,\\ncalled Christmas candles, wreathed with\\ngreens, were placed on a highly polished\\nbeaufet among the family plate. The table\\nwas abundantly spread with substantial fare\\nbut the squire made his supper of frumenty, a\\ndish made of wheat cakes boiled in milk with\\nrich spices, being a standing dish in old times\\nfor Christmas Eve. I was happy to find my\\nold friend, minced pie, in the retinue of the\\nfeast; and, finding him to be perfectly ortho-\\ndox, and that I need not be ashamed of my\\npredilection, I greeted him with all the warmth\\nwherewith we usually greet an old and very\\ngenteel acquaintance.\\nThe mirth of the company was greatly pro-\\nmoted by the humors of an eccentric personage", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "284 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwhom Mr. Bracebridge always addressed with\\nthe quaint appellation of Master Simon. He\\nwas a tight brisk little man, with the air of an\\narrant old bachelor. His nose was shaped like\\nthe bill of a parrot; his face slightly pitted\\nwith the small-pox, with a dry perpetual bloom\\non it, like a frost-bitten leaf in autumn. He\\nhad an eye of great quickness and vivacity,\\nwith a drollery and lurking waggery of expres-\\nsion that was irresistible. He was evidently\\nthe wit of the family, dealing very much in\\nsly jokes and innuendoes with the ladies, and\\nmaking infinite merriment by harping upon\\nold themes, which, unfortunately, my ignor-\\nance of the family chronicles did not permit\\nme to enjoy. It seemed to be his great de-\\nlight during supper to keep a young girl next\\nto him in a continual agony of stifled laughter,\\nin spite of her awe of the reproving looks of\\nher mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he was\\nthe idol of the younger part of the company,\\nwho laughed at everything he said or did and\\nat every turn of his countenance. I could not\\nwonder at it for he must have been a miracle\\nof accomplishments in their eyes. He could\\nimitate Punch and Judy; make an old woman\\nof his hand, with the assistance of a burnt\\ncork and pocket-handkerchief; and cut an\\norange into such a ludicrous caricature that\\nthe young folks were ready to die with laugh-\\ning.\\nI was let briefly into his history by Frank\\nBracebridge. He was an old bachelor, of a\\nsmall independent income, which by careful", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 285\\nmanagement was sufficient for all his wants.\\nHe revolved through the family system like a\\nvagrant comet in its orbit, sometimes visiting\\none branch, and sometimes another quite re-\\nmote, as is often the case with gentlemen of\\nextensive connections and small fortunes in\\nEngland. He had a chirping, buoyant dispo-\\nsition, always enjoying the present moment;\\nand his frequent change of scene and company\\nprevented his acquiring those rusty, unaccom-\\nmodating habits with which old bachelors are\\nso uncharitably charged. He was a complete\\nfamily chronicle, being versed in the geneal-\\nogy, history, and intermarriages of the whole\\nhouse of Bracebridge, which made him a\\ngreat favorite with the old folks; he was a\\nbeau of all the elder ladies and superannuated\\nspinsters, among whom he was habitually con-\\nsidered rather a young fellow and he was mas-\\nter of the revels among the children, so that\\nthere was not a more popular being in the\\nsphere in which he moved than Mr. Simon\\nBracebridge. Of late years he had resided\\nalmost entirely with the squire, to whom he\\nhad become a factotum, and whom he particu-\\nlarly delighted by jumping with his humor in\\nrespect to old times and by having a scrap of\\nan old song to suit every occasion. We had\\npresently a specimen of his last-mentioned tal-\\nent, for no sooner was supper removed arid\\nspiced wines and other beverages peculiar to\\nthe season introduced, than Master Simon was\\ncalled on for a good old Christmas song. He\\nbethought himself for a moment, and then,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "286 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwith a sparkle of the eye and a voice that was\\nby no means bad, except that it ran occasion-\\nally into a falsetto like the notes of a split\\nreed, he quavered forth a quaint old ditty\\nNow Christmas is come,\\nLet us beat up the drum.\\nAnd call all our neighbors together;\\nAnd when they appear,\\nLet us make them such cheer,\\nAs will keep out the wind and the weather, etc.\\nThe supper had disposed every one to gayety,\\nand an old harper was summoned from the\\nservant s hall, where he had been strumming\\nall the evening, and to all appearance com-\\nforting himself with some of the squire s home-\\nbrewed. He was a kind of hanger-on, I was\\ntold, of the establishment, and, though osten-\\nsibly a resident of the village, was oftener to\\nbe found in the squire s kitchen than his own\\nhome, the old gentleman being fond of the\\nsound of harp in hall.\\nThe dance, like most dances a^er supper,\\nwas a merry one some of the older folks\\njoined in it, and the squire himself figured\\ndown several couple with a partner with whom\\nhe affirmed he had danced at every Christ-\\nmas for nearly half a century. Master Simon,\\nwho seemed to be a kind of connecting link\\nbetween the old times and the new, and to be\\nwithal a little antiquated in the taste of his\\naccomplishments, evidentl}^ piqued himself on\\nhis dancing, and was endeavoring to gain\\ncredit by the heel and toe, rigadoon, and other", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 287\\ngraces of the ancient school but he had un-\\nluckily assorted himself with a little romping\\ngirl from boarding-school, who by her wild\\nvivacity kept him continually on the stretch\\nand defeated all his sober attempts at ele-\\ngance; such are the ill-storted matches to\\nwhich antique gentlemen are unfortunately\\nprone.\\nThe young Oxonian, on the contrary, had\\nled out one of his maiden aunts, on whom\\nthe rogue plaj^ed a thousand little knaveries\\nwith impunity: he was full of practical jokes,\\nand his delight was to tease his aunts and\\ncousins, yet, like all madcap youngsters, he\\nwas a universal favorite among the women.\\nThe most interesting couple in the dance was\\nthe young officer and a ward of the squire s, a\\nbeautiful blushing girl of seventeen. From\\nseveral shy glances which I had noticed in the\\ncourse of the evening I suspected there was a\\nlittle kindness growing up between them and\\nindeed the young soldier was just the hero to\\ncaptivate a romantic girl. He was tall, slen-\\nder, and handsome, and, like most young Brit-\\nish officers of late years, had picked up various\\nsmall accomplishments on the Continent: he\\ncould talk French and Italian, draw land-\\nscapes, sing very tolerably, dance divinely;\\nbut, above all, he had been wounded at\\nWaterloo. What girl of seventeen, well read in\\npoetry and romance, could resist such a mir-\\nror of chivalry and perfection?\\nThe moment the dance was over he caught\\nup a guitar, and, lolling against the old marble", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "288 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfireplace in an attitude which I am half in-\\nclined to suspect was studied, began the little\\nFrench air of the Troubadour. The squire,\\nhowever, exclaimed against having anything\\non Christmas Eve but good old English upon\\nwhich the young miUvStrel, casting up his eye\\nfor a moment as if in an effort of memory,\\nstruck into another strain, and with a charm-\\ning air of gallantry gave Herrick s Night-\\nPiece to Julia:\\nHer eyes the glow-worm lend thee,\\nThe shooting stars attend thee,\\nAnd the elves also,\\nWhose little eyes glow\\nLike the sparks of fire, befriend thee.\\nNo Will-o -the-Wisp mislight thee\\nNor snake nor slow-worm bit thee\\nBut on thy way.\\nNot making a stay.\\nSince ghost there is none to affright thee.\\nThen let not the dark thee cumber\\nWhat though the moon does slumber,\\nThe stars of the night\\nWill lend thee their light.\\nLike tapers clear without numbei\\nThen, Julia, let me woo thee.\\nThus, thus to come unto me.\\nAnd when I shall meet\\nThy silvery feet.\\nMy soul I ll pour unto thee.\\nThe song might or might not have been in-\\ntended in compliment to the fair Julia, for so I\\nfound his partner was called; she, however,\\nwas certainly unconscious of any such applica-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 289\\ntion, for she never looked at the singer, but\\nkept her eyes cast upon the floor. Her face\\nwas suffused, it is true, with a beautiful blush,\\nand there was a gentle heaving of the bosom,\\nbut all that was doubtless caused by the exer-\\ncise of the dance; indeed, so great was her in-\\ndifference that she amused herself with pluck-\\ning to pieces a choice bouquet of hot-house\\nflowers, and by the time the song was con-\\ncluded the nose-gay lay in ruins on the floor.\\nThe party now broke up for the night with\\nthe kind-hearted old custom of shaking hands.\\nAs I passed through the hall on my way to\\nmy chamber, the dying embers of the Yule-\\nclog still sent forth a dusky glow, and had it\\nnot been the season when no spirit dares stir\\nabroad, I should have been half tempted to\\nsteal from my room at midnight and peep\\nwhether the fairies might not be at their revels\\nabout the hearth.\\nMy chamber was in the old part of the man-\\nsion, the ponderous furniture of which might\\nhave been fabricated in the days of the giants.\\nThe room was paneled, with cornices of\\nheavy carved work, in which flowers and gro-\\ntesque faces were strangely intermingled, and\\na row of black-looking portraits stared mourn-\\nfully at me from the walls. The bed was of\\nrich though faded damask, with a lofty tester,\\nand stood in a niche opposite a bow window. I\\nhad scarcely got into bed when a strain of music\\nseemed to break forth in the air just below the\\nwindow. I listened, and found it proceeded\\nfrom a band which I concluded to be the Waits\\n19 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "290 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfrom some neig-hboring village. They went\\nround the house, playing under the windows.\\nI drew aside the curtains to hear them more\\ndistinctly. The moonbeams fell through the\\nupper part of the casement partially lighting\\nup the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as\\nthey receded, became more soft and aerial,\\nand seemed to accord with the quiet and moon-\\nlight. I listened and listened they became\\nmore and more tender and remote, and, as\\nthey gradually died away, my head sunk upon\\nthe pillow and I fell asleep.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 291\\nCHRISTMAS DAY.\\nDark and dull night, flie hence away.\\nAnd give the honor to this day\\nThat sees December turn d to May.\\nWhy does the chilling winter s morne\\nSmile like a field beset with corn?\\nOr smell like to a meade new-shorne,\\nThus on the sudden? come and see\\nThe cause why things thus fragrant be.\\nHerrick.\\nWhen I woke the next morning it seemed as\\nif all the events of the preceding evening had\\nbeen a dream, and nothing but the identity of\\nthe ancient chamber convinced me of their\\nreality. While I lay musing on my pillow I\\nheard the sound of little feet pattering outside\\nof the door, and a whispering consultation.\\nPresently a choir of small voices chanted forth\\nan old Christmas carol, the burden of which\\nwas\\nRejoice, our Saviour he was bom\\nOn Christmas Day in the morning.\\nI rose softly, slipt on my clothes, opened the\\ndoor suddenly, and beheld one of the most\\nbeautiful little fairy groups that a painter could\\nimagine. It consisted of a boy and two girls,\\nthe eldest not more than six, and lovely as\\nseraphs. They were going the rounds of the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "292 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhouse and singing at very chamber door, but\\nmy sudden appearance frightened them into\\nmute bashfulness. They remained for a\\nmoment playing on their lips with their\\nfingers, and now and then stealing a shy\\nglance from under their eyebrows, until, as if\\nby one impulse, they scampered away, and as\\nthey turned an angle of the gallery I heard\\nthem laughing in triumph at their escape.\\nEverything conspired to produce kind and\\nhappy feelings in this stronghold of old-fash-\\nioned hospitality. The window of my cham-\\nber looked out upon what in summer would\\nhave been a beautiful landscape. There was a\\nsloping lawn, a fine stream winding at the foot\\nof it, and a tract of park beyond, with noble\\nclumps of trees and herds of deer. At a dis-\\ntance was a neat hamlet, with the smoke from\\nthe cottage chimneys hanging over it, and a\\nchurch with its dark spire in strong relief\\nagainst the clear cold sky. The house was sur-\\nrounded with evergreens, according to the Eng-\\nlish custom, which would have given almost an\\nappearance of summer but the morning was\\nextremely frosty the light vapor of the pre-\\nceding evening had been precipitated by the\\ncold, and covered all the trees and every blade\\nof grass with its fine crystallizations. The rays\\nof a bright morning sun had a dazzling effect\\namong the glittering foliage. A robin, perched\\nupon the top of a mountain -ash that hung its\\nclusters of red berries just before my window,\\nwas basking himself in the sunshine and pip-\\ning a fev/ querulous notes, and a peacock was", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 293\\ndisplaying all the glories of his train and strut-\\nting with the pride and gravity of a Spanish\\ngrandee on the terrace walk below.\\nI had scarcely dressed myself when a servant\\nappeared to invite me to family prayers. He\\nshowed me the way to a small chapel in the\\nold wing of the house, where I found the prin-\\ncipal part of the family already assembled in a\\nkind of gallery furnished with cushions, has-\\nsocks, and large prayer-books; the servants\\nwere seated on benches below. The old\\ngentleman read prayers from a desk in front\\nof the gallery, and Master Simon acted as\\nclerk and made the responses and I must do\\nhim the justice to say that he acquitted himself\\nwith great gravity and decorum.\\nThe service was followed by a Christmas\\ncarol, which Mr. Bracebridge himself had con-\\nstructed from a poem of his favorite author,\\nHerrick, and it had been adapted to an old\\nchurch melody by Master Simon. As there\\nwere several good voices among the household,\\nthe effect was extremely pleasing, but I was\\nparticularly gratified by the exaltation of heart\\nand sudden sally of grateful feeling with which\\nthe worthy squire delivered one stanza, his eye\\nglistening and his voice rambling out of all\\nthe bounds of time and tune\\nTis Thou that crown st my glittering hearth\\nWith guiltless mirth,\\nAnd givest me Wassaile bowles to drink\\nSpiced to the brink\\nLord, tis Thy plenty-dropping hand\\nThat soiles my land:", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "294 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nAnd giv st me for my bushell sowne,\\nTwice ten for one.\\nI afterwards understood that early morning\\nservice was read on every Sunday and saint s\\nday throughout the year, either by Mr. Brace-\\nbridge or by some member of the family. It\\nwas once almost universally the case at the\\nseats of the nobility and gentry of England,\\nand it is much to be regretted that the custom\\nis falling into neglect for the dullest observer\\nmust be sensible of the order and serenity\\nprevalent in those households where the occa-\\nsional exercise of a beautiful form of worship\\nin the morning gives, as it were, the keynote\\nto every temper for the day and attunes every\\nspirit to harmony.\\nOur breakfast consisted of what the squire\\ndenominated true old English fare. He\\nindulged in some bitter lamentations over mod-\\nern breakfasts of tea and toast, which he cen-\\nsured as among the causes of modern effem-\\ninancy and weak nerves and the decline of old\\nEnglish heartiness; and, though he admitted\\nthem to his table to suit the palates of his\\nguests, yet there was a brave display of cold\\nmeats, wine, and ale on the sideboard.\\nAfter breakfast I walked about the grounds\\nwith Frank Bracebridge and Master Simon, or\\nMr. Simon, as he was called by everybody but\\nthe squire. We were escorted by a number of\\ngentlemanlike dogs, that seemed loungers\\nabout the establishment, from the frisking\\nspaniel to the steady old stag-hound, the last\\nof which was of a race that had been in the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 295\\nfamily time out of mind; they were all obedi-\\nent to a dog-whistle which hung- to Master\\nSimon s buttonhole, and in the midst of their\\ngambols would glance an eye occasionally upon\\na small switch he carried in his hand.\\nThe old mansion had a still more venerable\\nlook in the yellow sunshine than by pale moon-\\nlight and I could not but feel the force of\\nthe squire s idea that the formal terraces,\\nheavily moulded balustrades, and clipped yew\\ntrees carried with them an air of proud aris-\\ntocracy. There appeared to be an unusual\\nnumber of peacocks about the place, and I was\\nmaking some remarks upon what I termed a\\nflock of them that were basking under a sunny\\nwall, when I was gently corrected in my\\nphraseology by Master Simon, who told me\\nthat according to the most ancient and ap-\\nproved treatise on hunting I must say a muster\\nof peacocks. In the same way, added he,\\nwith a slight air of pedantry, we say a flight\\nof doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd\\nof deer, of wrens, or cranes, a skulk of foxes,\\nor a building of rooks. He went on to inform\\nme that, according to Sir Anthony Fitzherbert,\\nwe ought to ascribe to this bird both under-\\nstanding and glory for, being praised, he will\\npresently set up his tail, chiefly against the\\nsun, to the intent you may the better behold\\nthe beauty thereof. But at the fall of the leaf,\\nwhen his tail falleth, he will mourn and hide\\nhimself in corners till his tail come again as it\\nwas.\\nI could not help smiling at this display of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "296 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nsmall erudition on so whimsical a subject; but\\nI found that the peacocks were birds of some\\nconsequence at the hall, for Frank Bracebridge\\ninformed me that they were great favorites\\nwith his father, who was extremely careful to\\nkeep up the breed; partly because they\\nbelonged to chivalry, and were in great request\\nat the stately banquets of the olden time, and\\npartly because they had a pomp and mag-\\nnificence about them highly becoming an old\\nfamily mansion. Nothing, he was accustomed\\nto say, had an air of greater state and dignity\\nthan a peacock perched upon an antique stone\\nbalustrade.\\nMaster Simon had now to hurry off, having\\nan appointment at the parish church with the\\nvillage choristers, who were to perform some\\nmusic of his selection. There was something\\nextremely agreeable in the cheerful flow of\\nanimal spirits of the little man; and I confess\\nI had been somewhat surprised at his apt quo-\\ntations from authors who certainly were not\\nin the range of every- day reading. I mentioned\\nthis last circumstance to Frank Bracebridge,\\nwho told me with a smile that Master Simon s\\nwhole stock of erudition was confined to some\\nhalf a dozen old authors, which the squire had\\nput into his hands, and which he read over\\nand over whenever he had a studious fit, as he\\nsometimes had on a rainy day or a long winter\\nevening. Sir Anthony Fitzherbert s Book of\\nHusbandry, Markham s Country Content-\\nments, the Tretyse of Hunting, by Sir\\nThomas Cockayne, Knight, Isaac Walton s", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 297\\nAng-ler, and two ar three more such ancient\\nworthies of the pen were his standard author-\\nities and, like all men who knew but a fev/\\nbooks, he looked up to them with a kind of\\nidolatry and quoted them on all occasions. As\\nto his songs, they were chiefly picked out of\\nold books in the squire s library, and adapted\\nto tunes that were popular among the choice\\nspirits of the last century. His practical appli-\\ncation of scraps of literature, however, had\\ncaused him to be looked upon as a prodigy of\\nbook-knowledge by all the grooms, hunstmen,\\nand small sportsmen of the neighborhood.\\nWhile we were talking we heard the distant\\ntoll of the village, bell, and I was told that the\\nsquire was a little particular in having his\\nhousehold at church on a Christmas morning,\\nconsidering it a day of pouring out of thanks\\nand rejoicing; for, as old Tusser observed,\\nAt Christmas be merry, and thankful withal,\\nAnd feast thy poor, neighbors, the great with the small.\\nIf you are disposed to go to church, said\\nFrank Bracebridge, I can promise you a spec-\\nimen of my cousm Simon s musical achieve-\\nments. As the church is destitute of an organ,\\nhe has formed a band from the village ama-\\nteurs, and established a musical club for their\\nimprovement; he has also sorted a choir, as he\\nsorted my father s pack of hounds, according\\nto the directions of Jervaise Markham in his\\nCountry Contentments: for the bass he has\\nsought out of all the deep, solemn mouths,\\nand for the tenor the loud-ringing mouths,\\n20 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "298 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\namong the country bumpkins, and for sweet-\\nmouths, he has culled with curious taste\\namong the prettiest lasses in the neighbor-\\nhood though these last, he affirms, are the\\nmost difficult to keep in tune, your pretty\\nfemale singer being exceedingly wayward and\\ncapricious, and very liable to accident.\\nAs the morning, though frosty, was remark-\\nably fine and clear, the most of the family\\nwalked to the church, which was a very old\\nbuilding of gray stone, and stood near a village\\nabout half a mile from the park gate. Adjoin-\\ning it was a low snug parsonage which seemed\\ncoeval with the church. The front of it was\\nperfectly matted with a yew tree that had been\\ntrained against its walls, through the dense\\nfoliage of which apertures had been formed\\nto admit light into the small antique lattices.\\nAs we passed this sheltered nest the parson\\nissued forth and preceded us.\\nI had expected to see a sleek well-condi-\\ntioned pastor, such as is often found in a snug\\nliving in the vicinity of a rich patron s table,\\nbut I was disappointed. The parson was a\\nlittle, meagre, black-looking man, with a\\ngrizzled wig that was too wide and stood off\\nfrom each ear; so that his head seemed to\\nhave shrunk away within it, like a dried fil-\\nbert in its shell. He wore a rusty coat, with\\ngreat skirts and pockets that would have held\\nthe church Bible and prayer-book: and his\\nsmall legs seemed still smaller from being\\nplanted in large shoes decorated with enor-\\nmous buckles.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 299\\nI was informed by Frank Bracebridge that\\nthe parson had been a chum of his father s at\\nOxford, and had received this living shortly\\nafter the latter had come to his estate. He\\nwas a complete black-letter hunter, and would\\nscarcely read a work printed in the Roman\\ncharacter. The editions of Caxton and Wyn-\\nkyn de Worde were his delight, and he was\\nindefatigable in his researches after such old\\nEno^lish writers as had fallen into oblivion\\nfrom their worthlessness. In deference, per-\\nhaps, to the notions of Mr. Bracebridge he had\\nmade diligetit investigations into the festive\\nrites and holiday customs of former times, and\\nhad been as zealous in the inquiry as if he had\\nbeen a boon companion but it was merely\\nwith that plodding spirit with which men of\\na dust temperament follow up any track of\\nstudy, merely because it is denominated learn-\\ning; indifferent to its intrinsic nature, whether\\nit be the illustration of the wisdom or of the\\nribaldry and obscenity of antiquity. He had\\npored over these old volumes so intensely that\\nthey seemed to have been reflected into his\\ncountenance; which, if the face be indeed an\\nindex of the mind, might be compared to a\\ntitle-page of black-letter.\\nOn reaching the church-porch we found the\\nparson rebuking the gray-headed sexton for\\nhaving used mistletoe among the greens with\\nwhich the church was decorated. It was, he\\nobserved, an unholy plant, profaned by having\\nbeen used by the Druids in their mystic cere-\\nmonies; and, though it might be innocently", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "300 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nemployed in the festive ornamenting of halls\\nand kitchens, yet it had been deemed by the\\nfathers of the church as unhallowed and totally\\nunfit for sacred purposes. So tenacious was\\nhe on this point that the poor sexton was\\nobliged to strip down a great part of the hum-\\nble trophies of his taste before the parson\\nwould consent to enter upon the service of the\\nday.\\nThe interior of the church was venerable,\\nbut simple; on the walls were several mural\\nmonuments of the Bracebridges, and just\\nbeside the altar was a tomb of ancient work-\\nmanship, on which lay the effigy of a warrior\\nin armor with his legs crossed, a sign of his\\nhaving been a crusader. I was told it was one\\nof the family who had signalized himself in\\nthe Holy Land, and the same whose picture\\nhung over the fireplace in the hall.\\nDuring service Master Simon stood up in the\\npew and repeated the responses very audibly,\\nevincing that kind of ceremonious devotion\\npunctually observed by a gentleman of the old\\nschool and a man of old family connections. I\\nobserved too that he turned over the leaves of\\na folio prayer-book with something of a flourish\\npossibly to show off an enoritious seal-ring\\nwhich enriched one of his fingers and which\\nhad the look of a family relic. But he was\\nevidently most solicitous about the musical\\npart of the service, keeping his eye fixed\\nintently on the choir, and beating time wih\\nmuch gesticulation and emphasis.\\nThe orchestra was in a small gallery, and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 301\\npresented a most whimsical grouping of heads\\npiled one above the other, among which I par-\\nticularly noticed that of the village tailor, a\\npale fellow with a retreated forehead and chin,\\nwho played on the clarinet, and seemed to\\nhave blown his face to a point; and there\\nwas another, a short pursy man, stooping and\\nlaboring at a bass-viol, so as to show nothing\\nbut the top of a round bald head, like the egg\\nof an ostrich. There were two or three pretty\\nfaces among the female singers, to which the\\nkeen air of a frosty morning had given a\\nbright rosy tint; but the gentleman choristers\\nhad evidently been chosen, like old Cremona\\nfiddles, more for tone than looks; and as sev-\\neral had to sing from the same book, there\\nwere clusterings of odd physiognomies not un-\\nlike those groups of cherubs we sometimes see\\non country tombstones.\\nThe usual services of the choir were man-\\naged tolerably well, the vocal parts generally\\nlagging a little behind the instrumental, and\\nsome loitering fiddler now and then making\\nup for lost time by traveling over a passage\\nwith prodigious celerity and clearing more bars\\nthan the keenest fox-hunter to be in at the\\ndeath. But the great trial was an anthem that\\nhad been prepared and arranged by Master\\nSimon, and on which he had founded great ex-\\npectation. Unluckily, there was a blunder at\\nthe very outset; the mi^sicians became flur-\\nried Master Simon was in a fever everything\\nwent on lamely and irregularly until they came\\nto a chorus beginning, Now, let us sing with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "802 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\none accord, which seemed to be a signal for\\nparting company; all became discord and con-\\nfusion each shifted for himself, and got to\\nthe end as well or, rather, as soon as he\\ncoTild, excepting one old chorister in a pair of\\nhorn spectacles bestriding and pinching a long\\nsonorous nose, who happened to stand a little\\napart, and, being wrapped up in his own mel-\\nody, kept on a quavering course, wriggling\\nhis head, ogling his book, and winding all up\\nby a nasal solo of at least three bars* dura-\\ntion.\\nThe parson gave us a most erudite sermon on\\nthe rites and ceremonies of Christmas, and the\\npropriety of observing it not merely as a day\\nof thanksgiving, but of rejoicing, supporting\\nthe correctess of his opinions by the earliest\\nusages of the Church, and enforcing them by\\nthe authorities of Theophilus of Csesarea, St.\\nCyprian, St\u00c2\u00bb Chrysostom, St. Augustine, and a\\ncloud more of saints and fathers, from whom\\nhe made copious quotations. I was a little at\\na loss to perceive the necessity of such a mighty\\narray of forces to maintain a point which no\\none present seemed inclined to dispute; but I\\nsoon found that the good man had a legion of\\nideal adversaries to contend with, having in\\nthe course of his researches on the subject of\\nChristmas got completely embroiled in the\\nsectarian controversies of the Revolution,\\nwhen the Puritans made such a fierce assault\\nupon the ceremonies of the Church, and poor\\nold Christmas was driven out of the land by", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "THE bKKlCH BOOK. 303\\nproclamation of Parliament.* The worthy\\nparson lived but with times past, and knew but\\nlittle of the present.\\nShut up among worm-eaten tomes in the re-\\ntirement of his antiquated little study, the\\npages of old times were to him as the gazettes\\nof the day, while the era of the Revolution\\nwas mere modern history. He forgot that\\nnearly two centuries had elapsed since the\\nfiery persecution of poor mince-pie throughout\\nthe land when plum porridge was denounced\\nas mere popery, and roast beef as anti-chris-\\ntian, and that Christmas had been brought in\\nagain triumphantly with the merry court of\\nKing Charles at the Restoration. He kindled\\ninto warmth with the ardor of his contest and\\nthe host of imaginary foes with whom he had\\nto combat he had a stubborn conflict with old\\nPrynne and two or three other forgotten cham-\\npions of the Roundheads on the subject of\\n*From the Flying Eagle, a small gazette, published\\nDecember 24, 1652: The House spent much time this\\nday about the business of the Navy, for settling the\\naffairs at sea, and before they rose, were presented with\\na terrible remonstrance against Christmas day, ground-\\ned upon divine Scriptures, 2 Cor. v. 16; i Cor. xv. 14,\\n17; and in honor of the Lord s Day, grounded upon\\nthese Scriptures, John xx. i; Rev. i. 10; Psalms cxviii.\\n24; Lev. xxiii. 7, 11; Mark xv. 8; Psalms Ixxxiv. 10, in\\nwhich Christmas is called Anti-Christ s masse, and those\\nMasse-mongers and Papists who observe it, etc. In\\nconsequence of which Parliaments spent some time in\\nconsultation about the abolition of Christmas day,\\npassed orders to that effect, and resolved to sit on the\\nfollowing day, which was commonly called Christmas\\nday.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "304 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nChristmas festivity; and concluded b}^ urging*\\nhis hearers, in the most solemn and affecting\\nmanner, to stand to the traditional custom^s of\\ntheir fathers and feast and make merry on this\\njoyful anniversary of the Church.\\nI have seldom known a sermon attended\\napparently with more immediate effects, for\\non leaving the church the congregation seemed\\none and all possessed with the gayety of spirit\\nso earnestly enjoined by their pastor. The\\nelder folks gathered in knots in the church-\\nyard, greeting and shaking hands, and the chil-\\ndren ran about crying Ule! Ule! and repeating\\nsome uncouth rhymes,* which the parson, who\\nhad joined us, informed me had been handed\\ndown from days of yore. The villagers doffed\\ntheir hats to the squire as he passed, giving\\nhim the good wishes of the season with every\\nappearance of heartfelt sincerity, and were in-\\nvited by him to the hall to take something to\\nkeep out the cold of the weather; and I heard\\nblessings uttered by several of the poor, which\\nconvinced me that, in the midst of his enjoy-\\nments, the worthy old cavalier had not forgot-\\nten the true Christmas virtue of charity.\\nOn our way homeward his heart seemed\\noverflowed with generous and happy feelings.\\nAs we passed over a rising round which com-\\nmanded something of a prospect, the sounds of\\nrustic merriment now and then reached our\\nears; the squire paused for a few raoments and\\nUle! Ule!\\nThree puddings in a pule\\nCrack nuts and cry ule!", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 305\\nlooked around with an air of inexpressible be-\\nnignity. The beauty of the day was of itself\\nsufficient to inspire philanthropy. Notwith-\\nstanding the frostiness of the morning, the sun\\nin his cloudless journey had acquired sufficient\\npower to melt away the thin covering of snow\\nfrom every southern declivity, and to bring\\nout the living green which adorns an English\\nlandscape even in mid-winter. Large tracts of\\nsmiling verdure contrasted with the dazzling\\nwhiteness of the shaded slopes and hollows.\\nEvery sheltered bank on which the broad rays\\nrested yielded its silver rill of cold and limpid\\nwater, glittering through the dripping grass,\\nand sent up slight exhalations to contribute to\\nthe thin haze that hung just above the surface\\nof the earth. There v/as something truly\\ncheering in this triumph of warmth and ver-\\ndure over the frosty thraldom of winter; it\\nwas, as the squire observed, an emblem of\\nChristmas hospitalit} breaking through the\\nchills of ceremony and selfishness and thaw-\\ning every heart into a flow. He pointed with\\npleasure to the indications of good cheer reek-\\ning from the chimneys of the comfortable\\nfarm-houses and low thatched cottages. I\\nlove, said he, to see this day well kept by\\nrich and poor; it is a great thing to have one\\nday in the year, at least, when you are sure of\\nbeing welcome wherever you go, and of hav-\\ning, as it were, the world all thrown open to\\nyou; and I am almost disposed to join witli\\nPoor Pvobin in his malediction on every churl-\\nish enemy to this honest festival:\\n20", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "306 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nThose who at Christmas do repine,\\nAnd would fain hence dispatch him,\\nMay they with old Duke Humphry dine,\\nOr else may Squire Ketch catch em.\\nThe squire went on to lament the deplorable\\ndecay of the games and amusements which\\nwere once prevalent at this season among the\\nlower orders and countenanced by the higher,\\nwhen the old halls of castles and manor-houses\\nwere thrown open at daylight; when the tables\\nwere covered with brawn and bee and hum-\\nming ale; when the harp and the carol re-\\nsounded all day long; and when rich and poor\\nwere alike welcome to enter and make merry.*\\nOur old games and local customs, said he,\\nhad a great effect in making the peasant fond\\nof his home, and the promotion of them by\\nthe gentry made him fond of his lord. They\\nmade the times merrier and kinder and better,\\nand I can truly say, with one of our old poets,\\nI like them well; the curious preciseness\\nAnd all-pretended gravity of those\\nThat seek to banish hence these harmless sports,\\nHave thrust away much ancient honesty.\\n*The nation, continued he, is altered; we\\nhave almost lost our simple hearted peasantry.\\n*An English gentleman, at the opening of the great\\nday i. e., on Christmas Day in the morning had all\\nhis tenants and neighbors enter his hall by daybreak.\\nThe strong beer was broached, and the black-jacks went\\nplentifully about, with toast, sugar and nutmeg, and good\\nCheshire cheese. The Hackin (the great sausage) must\\nbe boiled by daybreak, or else two young men must\\ntake the maiden (1. e., the cook) by the arms and run\\nher round the market-place till she is shamed of her\\nlaziness. Round about our Sea-Coal Fire.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 307\\nThey have broken asunder from the higher\\nclasses, and ^eem to think their interests are\\nseparate. They have become too knowing,\\nand begin to read newspapers, listen to ale-\\nhouse politicians, and talk of reform. I think\\none mode to keep them in good-humor in these\\nhard times would be for the nobility and gen-\\ntry to pass more time on their estates, mingle\\nmore among the country-people, and set the\\nmerry old English games going again.\\nSuch was the good squire s project for miti-\\ngating public discontent: and, indeed, he had\\nonce attempted to put his doctrine in practice,\\nand a few years before he had kept open house\\nduring the, holidays in the old style. The\\ncountry-people, however, did not understand\\nhow to play their parts in the scene of hospi-\\ntality; many uncouth circumstances occurred;\\nthe manor was overrun by all the vagrants of\\nthe country, and more beggars drawn into the\\nneighborhood in one week than the parish\\nofficers could get rid of in a year. Since then\\nhe had contented himself with inviting the\\ndecent part of the neighboring peasantry to\\ncall at the hall on Christmas Day, and with\\ndistributing beef, and bread, and ale among\\nthe poor, that they might make merry in their\\nown dwellings.\\nWe had not been long home when the sound\\nof music was heard from a distance. A band\\nof country lads, without coats, their shirt-\\nsleeves fancifully tied with ribbons, their hats\\ndecorated with greens, and clubs in their\\nhands, was seen advancing up the avenue,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "308 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfollowed by a large number of villagers and\\npeasantry. They stopped before the hall\\ndoor, where the music struck up a peculiar\\nair, and the lads performed a curious and in-\\ntricate dance, advancing, retreating, and strik-\\ning their clubs together, keeping exact time\\nto the music; while one, whimsically crowned\\nwith a fox s skin, the tail of which flaunted\\ndown his back, kept capering round the skirts\\nof the dance and rattling a Christmas box with\\nmany antic gesticulations.\\nThe squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with\\ngreat interest and delight, and gave me a full\\naccount of its origin, which he traced to the\\ntimes when the Romans held possession of\\nthe island, plainly proving that this was a lineal\\ndescendant of the sword dance of the ancients.\\nIt was now, he said, nearly extinct, but he\\nhad accidentally met with traces of it in the\\nneighborhood, and had encouraged its revival\\nthough, to tell the truth, it was too apt to be\\nfollowed up by the rough cudgel play and\\nbroken heads in the evening.\\nAfter the dance was concluded the whole\\nparty was entertained with brawn and beef\\nand stout home-brewed. The squire himself\\nmingled among the rustics, and was received\\nwith awkward demonstrations of deference and\\nregard. It is true I perceived two or three of\\nthe younger peasants, as they were raising their\\ntankards to their mouths, when the squire s\\nback was turned making something of a grirn-\\nace, and giving each other the wink but thfe\\nmoment they caught my eye they pulled grave", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 309\\nfaces and were exceedingly demure., With\\nMaster Simon, however, they all seemed more\\nat their ease. His varied occupations and\\namusements had made him well known\\nthroughout the neighborhood. He was a\\nvisitor at every farm-house and cottage, gos-\\nsiped with the farmers and their wives,\\nromped with their daughters, and, like that\\ntype of a vagrant bachelor, the bumblebee,\\ntolled the sweets from all the rosy lips of the\\ncountry round.\\nThe bashfulness of the guests soon gave way\\nbefore good cheer and affability. There is\\nsomething genuine and affectionate in the gay-\\nety of the lower orders when it is excited by\\nthe bounty and familiarity of those above\\nthem the warm glow of gratitude enters into\\ntheir mirth, and a kind word or a small pleas-\\nantry frankly uttered by a patron gladdens the\\nheart of the dependant more than oil and\\nwine. When the squire had retired the merri-\\nment increased, and there was much joking\\nand laughter, particularly between Master\\nSimon and a hale, ruddy-faced, white-headed\\nfarmer who appeared to be the wit of the vil-\\nlage for I observed all his companions to wait\\nwith open mouths for his retorts, and burst into\\na gratuitous laugh before they could well un-\\nderstand them.\\nThe v/hole house indeed seemed abandoned\\nto merriment as I passed to my room to dress\\nfor dinner, I heard the sound of music in a\\nsmall court, and, looking through a window\\nthat commanded it, I perceived a band of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "310 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwandering musicians with pandean pipes and\\ntambourine; a pretty coquettish housemaid\\nwas dancing- a jig with a smart country lad,\\nwhile several of the other servants were look-\\ning on. In the midst of her sport the girl\\ncaught a glimpse of my face at the window,\\nand, coloring up, ran off with a air of roguish\\naffected confusion.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 311\\nTHE CHRISTMAS DINNER.\\nLo, now is come our joyful st feast\\nLet every man be jolly.\\nEache roome with yvie leaves is drest,\\nAnd every post with holly.\\nNow all our neighbors chimneys smoke,\\nAnd Christmas blocks are burning\\nTheir ovens they with bak t meats choke\\nAnd all their spits are turning.\\nWithout the door let sorrow lie,\\nAnd if, for cold, it hap to die,\\nWee l bury *t in a Christmas pye,\\nA^nd evermore be merry.\\nWithers, Juvenilia.\\nI had finished my toilet, and was loitering\\nwith Frank Bracebridge in the library, when\\nwe heard a distant thwacking sound, which\\nhe informed me was a signal for the serving\\nup of the dinner. The squire kept up old\\ncustoms in kitchen as well as hall, and the roll-\\ning-pin, struck upon the dresser by the cook,\\nsummoned the servants to carry in the meats.\\nJust in this nick the cook knock d thrice.\\nAnd all the waiters in a trice\\nHis summons did obey\\nEach serving-man, with dish in hand,\\nMarch d boldly up, like our train-band.\\nPresented and away.*\\nThe dinner was served up in the great hall,\\nSir John Suckling.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "I 312 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwhere the squire always held his Christmas\\nbanquet. A blazing crackling fire of logs had\\nbeen heaped on to warm the spacious apart-\\nment, and the flame went sparkling and\\nAvreathing up the wide-mouthed chimney.\\nThe great picture of the crusader and his\\nwhite horse had been profusely decorated with\\ng-reens for the occasion, and holly and ivy had\\nlikewise been wreathed round the helmet and\\nweapons on the opposite wall, which I un-\\nderstood were the arms of the same warrior. I\\nmust own, by the by, I had strong doubts\\nabout the authenticity of the painting and\\narmor as having belonged to the crusader,\\nthey certainly having the stamp of more recent\\ndays; but I was told that the painting had been\\nso considered time out of mind and that as\\nto the armor, it had been found in a lumber-\\nroom and elevated to its present situation by\\nthe squire, who at once determined it to be\\nthe armor of the family hero; and as he was\\nabsolute authority on all such subjects in his\\nown household, the matter had passed into\\ncurrent acceptation. A side-board was set out\\njust under this chivalric trophy, on which was\\na display of plate that might have vied (at\\nleast in variety) with Belshazzar s parade of\\nthe vessels of the temple: flagons, cans,\\ncups, beakers, goblets, basins, and ewers,\\nthe gorgeous utensils of good companionship\\nthat had gradually accumulated through many\\ngenerations of jovial housekeepers. Before\\nthese stood the two Yule candles, beaming like\\ntwo stars of the first magnitude other lights", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 313\\nwere distributed in branches, and the whole\\narray glittered like a firmament of silver.\\nWe were ushered into this banqueting scene\\nwith the sound of minstrelsy, the old harper\\nbeing seated on a stool beside the fireplace and\\ntwanging his instrument with a vast deal\\nmore power than melody. Never did Christ-\\nmas board display a more goodly and gracious\\nassemblage of countenances; those who were\\nnot handsome were at least happy, and happi-\\nness is a rare improver of your hard-favored\\nvisage. I always consider an old English\\nfamily as well worth studying as a collection\\nof Holbein s portraits or Albert Durer s\\nprints. There is much antiquarian lore to be\\nacquired, much knowledge of the physiogno-\\nmies of former times. Perhaps it may be from\\nhaving continually before their eyes those rows\\nof old family portraits, with which the man-\\nsions of this country are stocked certain it is\\nthat the quaint features of antiquity are often\\nmost faithfully perpetuated in these ancient\\nlines, and I have traced an old family nose\\nthrough a whole picture-gallery, legitimately\\nhanded down from generation to generation\\nalmost from the time of the Conquest. Some-\\nthing of the kind was to be observed in the\\nworthy company around me. Many of their\\nfaces had evidently originated in a Gothic age,\\nand been merely copied by succeeding genera-\\ntions; and there was one little girl in particu-\\nlar, of staid demeanor, with a high Roman\\nnose and an antique vinegar aspect, who was\\na great favorite of the squire s, being, as he", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "314 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nsaid, a Bracebridge all over, and the very\\ncounterpart of one of his ancestors who figured\\nin the court of Henry VIII.\\nThe parson said grace, which was not a short\\nfamiliar one, such as is commonly addressed\\nto the Deity in these unceremonious days, but\\na long, courtly, well-worded one of the ancient\\nschool. There was now a pause, as if some-\\nthing was expected, when suddenly the butler\\nentered the hall with some degree of bustle:\\nhe was attended by a servant on each side\\nwith a large wax-light, and bore a silver dish\\non which was an enormous pig s head deco-\\nrated with rosemary, with a lemon in its\\nmouth, which was placed with great formality\\nat the head of the table. The moment this\\npageant made its appearance the harper struck\\nup a flourish; at the conclusion of which the\\nyoung Oxonian, on receiving a hint from the\\nsquire, gave, with an air of the most comic\\ngravity, an old carol, the first verse of which\\nwas as follows:\\nCaput apri defero\\nReddens laudes Domino.\\nThe boar s head in hand bring I,\\nWith garlands gay and rosemary.\\nI pray yon all synge merrily\\nQui estis in convivio.\\nThough prepared to witness many of these\\nlittle eccentricities, from being apprised of the\\npeculiar hobby of mine host, yet I confess the\\nparade with which so odd a dish was intro-\\nduced somewhat perplexed me, until I\\ngathered from the conversation of the squire", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 315\\nand the parson that it was meant to represent\\nthe bringing in of the boar s head, a dish for-\\nmerly served up with much ceremony and the\\nsound of minstrelsy and song at great tables\\non Christmas Day. I like the old custom,\\nsaid the squire, not merely because it is\\nstately and pleasing in itself, but because it\\nwas observed at the college at Oxford at which\\nI was educated. When I hear the old song\\nchanted it brings to mind the time when I was\\nyoung and gamesome, and the noble old col-\\nlege hall, and my fellow-students loitering\\nabout in their black gowns; many of whom,\\npoor lads are now in their graves.\\nThe parson, however, whose mind was not\\nhaunted by such associations, and who was\\nalways more taken up with the text than the\\nsentiment, objected to the Oxonian s version\\nof the carol, which he affirmed was different\\nfrom that sung at college. He went on, with\\nthe dry perseverance of a commentator, to\\ngive the college reading, accompanied by sun-\\ndry annotations, addressing himself at first to\\nthe company at large but, finding their atten-\\ntion gradually diverted to other talk and other\\nobjects, he lowered his tone as his number of\\nauditors diminished, until he concluded his\\nremarks in an under voice to a fat-headed old\\ngentleman next him who was silently engaged\\nin the discussion of a huge plateful of turkey.*\\nThe old ceremony of serving up the boar s head on\\nChristmas Day is still observed in the hall of Queen s\\nCollege, Oxford. I was favored by the parson with a\\ncopy of the carol as now sung, and as it may be accept-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "316 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nThe table was literally loaded with good\\ncheer, and presented an epitome of country-\\nabundance in this season of overflowing lar-\\nders. A distinguished post was allotted to\\nancient sirloin, as mine host termed it,\\nbeing, as he added, the standard of old Eng-\\nlish hospitality, and a joint of goodly presence,\\nand full of expectation. There were several\\ndishes quaintly decorated, and which had\\nevidently something traditional in their em-\\nbellishments, but about which, as I did not like\\nto appear over-curious, I asked no questions.\\nI could not, however, but notice a pie mag-\\nnificently decorated with peacock s feathers, in\\nimitation of the tail of that bird, which over-\\nshadowed a considerable tract of the table.\\nThis, the squire confessed with some little hes-\\nable to such of my readers as are curious in these grave\\nand learned matters, I give it entire\\nThe boar s head in hand bear I,\\nBedeck d with bays and rosemary;\\nAnd I pray you, my masters, be merry\\nQuot estis in convivio\\nCaput apri defero.\\nReddens laudes domino.\\nThe boar s head, as I understand,\\nIs the rarest dish in all this land,\\nWhich thus bedeck d with a gay garland\\nLet us servire cantico\\nCaput apri defero, etc.\\nOur steward hath provided this\\nIn honor of the King of Bliss,\\nWhich on this day to be served is\\nIn Reginensi Atrio.\\nCaput apri defero, etc., etc., etc.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 317\\nitation, was a pheasant pie, though a peacock\\npie was certainly the most authentical; but\\nthere had been such a mortality among the\\npeacocks this season that he could not prevail\\nupon himself to have one killed.*\\nIt would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser\\nreaders, who may not have that foolish fond-\\nness for odd and obsolete things to which I am\\na little given, were I to mention the other\\nmakeshifts of this worthy old humorist, by\\nwhich he was endeavoring to follow up, though\\nat humble distance, the quaint customs of\\nantiquity. I was pleased, however, to see the\\nrespect shown to his whims by his children and\\nrelatives; who, indeed, entered readily into the\\nfull spirit of them, and seemed all well versed\\nin their parts, having doubtless been present\\n*The peacock was anciently in great demand for\\nstately entertainments. Sometimes it was made into\\na pie, at one end of which the head appeared above the\\ncrust in all its plumage, with the beak richly gilt at the\\nother end the tail was dispayed. Such pies were served\\nup at the solemn banquets of chivalry, when knights-\\nerrant pledged themselves to undertake any perilous\\nenterprise, whence came the ancient oath, used by Jus-\\nice Shallow, by cock and pie.\\nThe peacock was also an important dish for the Christ-\\nmas feast; and Massinger in his City Madam, gives\\nsome idea of the extravagance with which this, as well\\nas other dishes, was prepared for the gorgeous revels of\\nthe olden times:\\nMen may talk of Country Christmasses,\\nTheir thirty pound butter d eggs, their pies of carps\\ntongues\\nTheir pheasants drench d with ambergris the carcases\\nof three fat wethers bruised for gravy to make sauce\\nfor a single peacock", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "318 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nat many a rehearsal. I was amused, too, at the\\nair of profound gravity with which the butler\\nand other servants executed the duties assigned\\nthem, however eccentric. They had an old-\\nfashioned look, having, for the most part, been\\nbrought up in the household and grown into\\nkeeping with the antiquated mansion and the\\nhumors of its lord, and most probably looked\\nupon all his whimsical regulations as the estab-\\nlished laws of honorable housekeeping.\\nWhen the cloth was removed the butler\\nbrought in a huge silver vessel of rare and cur-\\nious workmanship, which he placed before the\\nsquire. Its appearance was hailed with\\nacclamation, being the Wassail Bowl, so\\nrenowned in Christmas festivity. The con-\\ntents had been prepared by the squire himself;\\nfor it was a beverage in the skilful mixture of\\nwhich he particularly prided himself, alleging\\nthat it was too abstruse and complex for the\\ncomprehension of an ordinary servant. It was\\na potation, indeed, that might well make the\\nheart of a toper leap within him, being com-\\nposed of the richest and raciest wines, highly\\nspiced and sweetened, with roasted apples bob-\\nbing about the surface.*\\nThe old gentleman s whole countenance\\nbeamed with a serene look of indwelling delight\\nas he stirred this mighty bowl. Having raised\\n*The Wassail Bowl was sometimes composed of ale\\ninstead of wine, with nutmeg, sugar, toast, ginger, and\\nroasted crabs in this way the nut-brown beverage is\\nstill prepared in some old families and round the\\nhearths of substantial farmers at Christmas. It is also", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 319\\nit to his lips, with a hearty wish of a merry\\nChristmas to all present, he sent it brimming\\nround the board, for every one to follow his\\nexample, according to the primitive style, pro-\\nnouncing it the ancient fountain of good feel-\\ning, where all hearts met together.\\nThere was much laughing and rallying as\\nthe honest emblem of Christmas joviality\\ncirculated and was kissed rather coyly by the\\nladies. When it reached Master Simon, he\\nraised it in both hands, and with the air of a\\nboon companion struck up an old Wassail\\nChanson\\nThe brown bowle.\\nThe merry brown bowle,\\nAs it goes round-about-a,\\nFill\\nStill,\\nLet the world say what it will.\\nAnd drink your fill all out-a.\\nThe deep canne,\\nThe merry deep canne.\\nAs thou dost freely quaff -a,\\ncalled Lamb s Wool, and is celebrated by Herrick in his\\nTwelfth Night:\\nNext crowne the bowle full\\nWith gentle Lamb s Wool\\nAdd sugar, nutmeg, and ginger,\\nWith store of ale too.\\nAnd thus ye must doe\\nTo make the Wassaile a swinger.\\nThe custom of drinking out of the same cup gave\\nplace to each having his cup. When the steward came\\nto the doore with the Wassel, he was to cry three times\\nWassel, Wassel, Wassel, and then the chappell (chap-\\nlain) was to answer with a song. Archseologia.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "320 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nSing\\nFling,\\nBe as merry as a king,\\nAnd sound a lusty laugh-a,*\\nMuch of the conversation during dinner\\nturned upon family topics, to which I was a\\nstranger. There was, however, a great deal\\nof rallying of Master Simon about some gay\\nwidow with whom he was accused of having a\\nflirtation. This attack was commenced by the\\nladies, but it was continued throughout the\\ndinner by the flat-headed old gentleman next\\nthe parson with the persevering assiduity of a\\nslow hound, being one of those long-winded\\njokers, who, though rather dull at starting\\ngame, are unrivaled for their talents in hunting\\nit down. At every pause in the general con-\\nversation he renewed his bantering in pretty\\nmuch the same terms, winking hard at me\\nwith both eyes whenever he gave Master Simon\\nwhat he considered a home-thrust. The latter,\\nindeed, seemed fond of being teased on the\\nsubject, as old bachelors are apt to be, and he\\ntook occasion to inform me, m an undertone,\\nthat the lady in question was a prodigiously\\nfine woman and drove her own curricle.\\nThe dinner-time passed away in this flow of\\ninnocent hilarity, and, though the old hall\\nmay have resounded in its time with many a\\nscene of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt\\nwhether it ever witnessed more honest and\\ngenuine enjoyment. How easy it is for one\\n*From Poor Robin s Almanack.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 321\\nbenevolent being to diffuse pleasure around\\nhim! and how truly is a kind heart a fountain\\nof gladness, making everything in its vicinity\\nto freshen into smiles The joyous disposition\\nof the worthy squire was perfectly contagious\\nhe was happy himself, and disposed to make\\nall the world happy, and the little eccentric-\\nities of his humor did but season, in a manner,\\nthe sweetness of his philanthropy.\\nWhen the ladies had retired, the conversa-\\ntion, as usual, became still more animated;\\nmany good things were broached which had\\nbeen thought of during dinner, but which\\nwould not exactly do for a lady s ear; and,\\nthough I cannot positively affirm that there\\nwas much wit uttered, yet I have certainly\\nheard many contests of rare wit produce much\\nless laughter. Wit, after all, is a mighty tart,\\npungent ingredient, and much too acid for\\nsome stomachs; but honest good-humor is the\\noil and wine of a merry meeting, and there is\\nno jovial companionship equal to that where\\nthe jokes are rather small and the laughter\\nabundant.\\nThe squire told several long stories of early\\ncollege pranks and adventures, in some of\\nwhich the parson had been a sharer, though in\\nlooking at the latter it required some effort of\\nimagination to figure such a little dark anat-\\nomy of a man into the perpetrator of a madcap\\ngambol. Indeed, the two college chums pre-\\nsented pictures of what men may be made by\\ntheir different lots in life. The squire had\\nleft the university to live lustily on his\\n21 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "322 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\npaternal domains in the vigorous enjoyment of\\nprosperity and sunshine, and had flourished on\\nto a hearty and florid old age whilst the poor\\nparson, on the contrary, had dried and withered\\naway among dusty tomes in the silence and\\nshadows of his study. Still, there seemed to\\nbe a spark of almost extinguished fire feebly\\nglimmering in the bottom of his soul and as\\nthe squire hinted at a sly story of the parson\\nand a pretty milkmaid whom they once met on\\nthe banks of the Isis, the old gentleman made\\nan alphabet of faces, which, as far as I\\ncould decipher his physiognomy, I verily believe\\nwas indicative of laughter; indeed, I have\\nrarely met with an old gentleman that took\\nabsolute offence at the imputed gallantries of\\nhis youth.\\nI found the tide of wine and wassail fast\\ngaining on the dry land of sober judgment.\\nThe company grew merrier and louder as their\\njokes grew duller. Master Simon was in as\\nchirping a humor as a grasshopper filled with\\ndew; his old songs grew of a warmer complex-\\nion, and he began to talk maudlin about the\\nwidow. He even gave a long song about the\\nwooing of a widow which he informed me he\\nhad gathered from an excellent black-letter\\nwork entitled Cupid s Solicitor for Love, con-\\ntaining store of good advice fcr bachelors, and\\nwhich he promised to lend me the first verse\\nwas to this effect\\nHe that will woo a widow must not dally,\\nHe must make hay while the sun doth shine\\nHe must not stand with her, shall I, shall I,\\nBut boldly say, Widow, thou must be mine.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 323\\nThis song inspired the fat-headed old gentle-\\nman, who made several attempts to tell a rather\\nbroad story out of Joe Miller that was pat to\\nthe purpose but he always stuck in the middle,\\neverybody recollecting the latter part except-\\ning himself. The parson, too, began to show\\nthe effects of good cheer, having gradually\\nsettled down into a doze and his wig sitting\\nmost suspiciously on one side. Just at this\\njuncture we were summoned to the drawing-\\nroom, and I suspect, at the private instigation\\nof mine host, whose joviality seemed always\\ntempered with a proper love of decorum.\\nAfter the dinner-table was removed the hall\\nwas given up to the younger members of the\\nfamily, who, prompted to all kind of noisy\\nmirth by the Oxonian and Master Simon, made\\nits old walls ring with their merriment as they\\nplayed at romping games. I delight in wit-\\nnessing the gambols of children, and partic-\\nularly at this happy holiday season, and\\ncould not help stealing out of the drawing-\\nroom one hearing one of their peals of laughter.\\nI found them at the game of blindman s-buff.\\nMaster Simon, who was the leader of their\\nrevels, and seemed on all occasions to fulfill\\nthe office of that ancient potentate, the Lord\\nof Misrule,* was blinded in the midst of the\\nhall. The little beings were as busy about\\n*At Christmasse there was in the Kinges house, where-\\nsoever hee was lodged, a lorde of misrule or mayster of\\nmene disportes, and the like had ye in the house of\\nevery nobleman of honor, or good worshippe, were he\\nspirituall or temporall. Stow.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "324 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhim as the mock fairies about Falstaff, pinch-\\ning him, plucking at the skirts of his coat, and\\ntickling him with straws. One fine blue-eyed\\ngirl of about thirteen, with her flaxen hair all\\nin beautiful confusion, her frolic face in a\\nglow, her frock half torn off her shoulders, a\\ncomplete picture of a romp, was the chief\\ntormentor and, from the slyness with which\\nMaster Simon avoided the smaller game and\\nhemmed this wild little nymph in corners, and\\nobliged her to jump shrieking over chairs, I\\nsuspected the rogue of being not a whit more\\nblinded than was convenient.\\nAVhen I returned to the drawing-room I\\nfound the company seated round the fire listen-\\ning to the parson, who was deeply ensconced\\nin a high-backed oaken chair, the work of some\\ncunning artificer of yore, which had been\\nbrought from the library for his particular\\naccommodation. From this venerable piece\\nof furniture, with which his shadowy figure\\nand dark weazen face so admirably accorded,\\nhe was dealing out strange accounts of the pop-\\nular superstitions and legends of the surround-\\ning country, with which he had become\\nacquainted in the course of his antiquarian\\nresearches. I am half inclined to think that\\nthe old gentleman was himself somewhat tinc-\\ntured with superstition, as men are very apt to\\nbe who live a recluse and studious life in a\\nsequestered part of the country and pore over\\nblack-letter tracts, so often filled w4th the\\nmarvelous and supernatural. He gave ns\\nseveral anecdotes of the fancies of the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 325\\nneighboring peasantry concerning the effigy of\\nthe crusader which lay on the tomb by the\\nchurch altar. As it was the only monument of\\nthe kind in that part of the country, it had\\nalways been regarded with feelings of supersti-\\ntion by the good wives of the village. It was\\nsaid to get up from the tomb and walk the\\nrounds of the churchyard in stormy nights, par-\\nticularly when it thundered; and one old\\nwoman, whose cottage bordered on the church-\\nyard, had seen it through the windows of the\\nchurch, when the moon shone, slowly pacing\\nup and down the aisles. It was the belief that\\nsome wrong had been left unredressed by the\\ndeceased, or some treasure hidden, which kept\\nthe spirit in a state of trouble and restlessness.\\nSome talked of gold and jewels buried in the\\ntomb, over which the spectre kept watch and\\nthere was a story current of a sexton in old\\ntimes who endeavored to break his way to the\\ncoffin at night, but just as he reached it received\\na violent blow from the marble hand of the\\neffigy, which stretched him senseless on the\\npavement. These tales were often laughed at\\nby some of the sturdier among the rustics, yet\\nwhen night came on there were many of the\\nstoutest unbelievers that were shy of venturing\\nalone in the footpath that led across the church-\\nyard.\\nFrom these and other anecdotes that followed\\nthe crusader appeared to be the favorite hero\\nof ghost-stories throughout the vicinity. His\\npicture, which hung up in the hall, was thought\\nby the servants to have something supernatural", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "328 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nabout it for they remarked that in whatever\\npart of the hall you went the eyes of the warrior\\nwere still fixed on you. The old porter s wife,\\ntoo, at the lodge, who had been born and\\nbrought up in the family, and was a great gos-\\nsip among the maid-servants, affirmed that in\\nher young days she had often heard say that on\\nMidsummer Eve, when it was well known all\\nkinds of ghosts, goblins, and fairies become\\nvisible and walk aboard, the crusader used to\\nmount his horse, come down from his picture,\\nride about the house, down the avenue, and so\\nto the church to visit the tomb on which occa-\\nsion the church-door most civilly swung open\\nof itself not that he needed it, for he rode\\nthrough closed gates, and even stone walls, and\\nhad been seen by one of the dairymaids to pass\\nbetween two bars of the great park gate, mak-\\ning himself as thin as a sheet of paper.\\nAll thege superstitions I found had been very\\nmuch countenanced by the squire, who, though\\nnot superstitious himself, was very fond of see-\\ning others so. He listened to every goblin tale\\nof the neighboring gossips with infinite gravity,\\nand held the porter s wife in high favor on\\naccount of her talent for the marvelous. He\\nwas himself a great reader of old legends and\\nromances, and often lamented that he could\\nnot believe in them for a superstitious person,\\nhe thought, must live in a kind of fairy-land.\\nWhilst we were all attention to the parson s\\nstories, our ears were suddenly assailed by a\\nburst of heterogeneous sounds from the hall, in\\nwhich were mingled something like the clang", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 32?\\nof rude minstrelsy with the uproar of many\\nsmall voices and girlish laughter. The door\\nsuddenly flew open, and a train came trooping\\ninto the room that might almost have been mis-\\ntaken for the breaking up of the court of Faery.\\nThat indefatigable spirit, Master Simon, in\\nthe faithful discharge of his duties as lord of\\nmisrule, had conceived the idea of a Christmas\\nmummery or masking; and having called in to\\nhis assistance the Oxonian and the young\\nofficer, who were equally ripe for anything that\\nshould occasion romping and merriment, they\\nhad carried it into instant effect. The old\\nhouse-keeper had been consulted; the antique\\nclothes-presses and wardrobes rummaged and\\nmade to yield up the relics of finery that had\\nnot seen the light for several generations the\\nyounger part of the company had been priv\u00c2\u00ab\\nately convened from the parlor and hall, and\\nthe whole had been bedizened out into a bur-\\nlesque imitation of an antique mask.*\\nMaster Simon led the van, as Ancient\\nChristmas, quaintly appareled in a ruff, a\\nshort cloak, which had very much the aspect\\nof one of the old housekeeper s petticoats,\\nand a hat that might have served for a village\\nsteeple, and must indubitably have figured in\\nthe days of the Covenanters. From under\\n*Maskings or mummeries were favorite sports at\\nChristmas in old times, and the wardrobes at halls and\\nmanor-houses were often laid under contribution ta\\nfurnish dresses and fantastic disguisings. I strongly\\nsuspect Master Simon to have taken the idea of his from\\nBen Jonson s Masque of Christmas.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "328 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthis his nose curved boldly forth, flushed with\\na frost-bitten bloom that seemed the very-\\ntrophy of a December blast. He was accom-\\npanied by the blue-eyed romp, dished up, as\\nDame Mince Pie, in the venerable magnifi-\\ncence of a faded brocade, long stomacher,\\npeaked hat, and high-heeled shoes. The\\nyoung officer appeared as Robin Hood, in a\\nsporting dress of Kendal green and a foraging\\ncap with a gold tassel.\\nThe costume, to be sure, did not bear testi-\\nmony to deep research, and there was an evi-\\ndent eye to the picturesque, natural to a young\\ngallant in the presence of his mistress. The\\nfair Julia hung on his arm in a pretty rustic\\ndress as Maid Marian. The rest of the train\\nhad been metamorphosed in various ways the\\ngirls trussed up in the finery of the ancient\\nbelles of the Bracebridge line, and the strip-\\nlings bewhiskered with burnt cork, and gravely\\nclad in broad skirts, hanging sleeves, and full-\\nbottomed wigs, to represent the character of\\nRoast Beef, Plum Pudding, and other wcMrthies\\ncelebrated in ancient maskings. The whole\\nwas under the control of the Oxonian in the\\nappropriate character of Misrule; and I\\nobserved that he exercised rather a mischiev-\\nous sway with his wand over the smaller per-\\nsonages of the pageant.\\nThe irruption of this motley crew with beat\\nof drum, according to ancient custom, was the\\nconsummation of uproar and merriment.\\nMaster Simon covered himself with glory by\\nthe stateliness with which, as Ancient Christ-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 329\\nmas, he walked a minuet with the peerless\\nthough giggling Dame Mince Pie. It was fol-\\nlowed by a dance of all the characters, which\\nfrom its medley of costumes seemed as\\nthough the old family portraits had skipped\\ndown from their frames to join in the sport.\\nDifferent centuries were figuring at cross\\nhands and right and left the Dark Ages were\\ncutting pirouettes and rigadoons and the days\\nof Queen Bess jigging merrily down the mid-\\ndle through a line of succeeding generations.\\nThe worthy squire contemplated these fan-\\ntastic sports and this resurrection of his old\\nwardrobe with the simple relish of childish de-\\nlight. He stood chuckling and rubbing his\\nhands, and scarcely hearing a word the parson\\nsaid, notwithstanding that the latter was dis-\\ncoursing most authentically on the ancient and\\nstately dance of the Pavon, or peacock, from\\nwhich he conceived the minuet to be derived.*\\nFor my part, I was in a continual excite-\\nment from the varied scenes of whim and\\ninnocent gayety passing before me. It was\\ninspiring to see wild-eyed frolic and warm-\\nhearted hospitality breaking out from among\\nthe chills and glooms of winter, and old age\\nthrowing off his apathy and catching once\\nSir John Hawkins, speaking of the dance called the\\nPavon, from pavo, a peacock, says, It is a grave\\nand majestic dance; the method of dancing it anciently\\nwas by gentlemen dressed with caps and swords, by\\nthose of the long robe in their gowns, by the peers in\\ntheir mantles, and by the ladies in gowns with long\\ntrains, the motion whereof, in dancing, resembled that\\nof a peacock. History of Music.\\n22 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "330 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmore the freshness of youthful enjoyment. I\\nfelt also an interest in the scene from the con-\\nsideration that these fleeting- customs were\\nposting fast into oblivion, and that this was\\nperhaps the only family in England in which\\nthe whole of them was still punctiliously ob-\\nserved. There was a quaintness, too, mingled\\nwith all this revelry that gave it a peculiar\\nzest: it was suited to the time and place; and\\nas the old manor-house almost reeled with\\nmirth and wassail, it seemed echoing back the\\njoviality of long departed years.*\\nBut enough of Christmas and its gambols; it\\nis time for me to pause in this garrulity. Me-\\nthinks I hear the questions asked by my\\ngraver readers, *To what purpose is all this?\\nhow is the world to be made wiser by this\\ntalk? Alas! is there not wisdom enough ex-\\ntant for the instruction of the world? And if\\nnot, are there not thousands of abler pens lab-\\noring for its improvement? It is so much\\npleasanter to please than to instruct to play\\nthe companion rather than the preceptor.\\nWhat, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I\\ncould throw into the mass of knowledge? or\\nhow am I sure that my sagest deductions may\\nAt the time of the first publication of this paper the\\npicture of an old-fashioned Christmas m the country\\nwas pronounced by some as out of date. The author\\nhad afterwards an opportunity of witnessing almost all\\nthe customs above described, existing in unexpected\\nvigor in the skirts of Derbyshire and Yorkshire, where\\nhe passed the Christmas holidays. The reader will find\\nsome notice of them in the author s account of his\\nsojourn at Newstead Abbey.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 331\\nbe safe guides for the opinions of others? But\\nin writing to amuse, if I fail the only evil is\\nin my own disappointment. If, however, I\\ncan by any lucky chance, in these days of evil,\\nrub out one wrinkle from the brow of care or\\nbeguile the heavy heart of one moment of sor-\\nrow if I can now and then penetrate through\\nthe gathering film of misanthropy, prompt a\\nbenevolent view of human nature, and make\\nmy reader more in good-humor with his fel-\\nlow-beings and himself surely, surely, I shall\\nnot then have written entirely in vain.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "332 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nLONDON ANTIQUES.\\n^-I do walk\\nMethinks like Guido Vaux, with my dark lanthom.\\nStealing to set the town o fire; i* th country\\nI should be taken for William o the Wisp,\\nOr Robin Goodfellow.\\nFletcher.\\nI am somewhat of an antiquity-hunter, and\\nam fond of exploring London in quest of the\\nrelics of old times. These are principally to\\nbe found in the depths of the city, swallowed\\nup and almost lost in a wilderness of brick\\nand mortar, but deriving poetical and roman-\\ntic interest from the commonplace, prosaic\\nworld around them. I was struck with an\\ninstance of the kind in the course of a r,ecent\\nsummer ramble into the city; for the city is\\nonly to be explored to advantage in sum-\\nmer-time, when free from the smoke and fog\\nand rain and mud of winter. I had been\\nbuffeting for some time against the current of\\npopulation setting through Fleet Street. The\\nwarm weather had unstrung my nerves and\\nmade me sensitive to every jar and jostle and\\ndiscordant sound. The flesh was weary, the\\nspirit faint, and I was getting out of humor\\nwith the bustling busy throng through which I\\nhad to struggle, when in a fit of desperation\\n1 tore my way through the crowd, plunged", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0344.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 333\\ninto a by-lane, and, after passing through sev-\\neral obscure nooks and angles, emerged into a\\nquaint and quiet court with a grassplot in the\\ncentre overhung by ^Ims, and kept perpetu-\\nally fresh and green by a fountain with its\\nsparkling jet of water. A student with book\\nin hand was seated on a stone bench, partly\\nreading, partly meditating on the movements\\nof two or three trim nursery-maids with their\\ninfant charges.\\nI was like an Arab who had suddenly come\\nupon an oasis amid the panting sterility of the\\ndesert. By degrees the quiet and coolness of\\nthe place soothed my nerves and refreshed my\\nspirit. I pursued my walk, and came, hard\\nby, to a very ancient chapel with a low-\\nbrowed Saxon portal of massive and rich\\narchitecture. The interior was circular and\\nlofty and lighted from above. Around were\\nmonumental tombs of ancient date on which\\nwere extended the marble effigies of warriors in\\narmor. Some had the hands devoutly crossed\\nupon the breast; others grasped the pommel\\nof the sword, menacing hostility even in the\\ntomb, while the crossed legs of several indi-\\ncated soldiers of the Faith who had been on\\ncrusades to the Holy Land.\\n1 was, in fact, in the chapel of the Knights\\nTemplars, strangely situated in the very cen-\\ntre of sordid traffic and I do not know a more\\nimpressive lesson for the man of the world\\nthan thus suddenly to turn aside from the\\nhighway of busy money-seeking life, and sit", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0345.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "S34 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ndown among these shadowy sepulchres, where\\nall is twilight, dust, and forgetful ness.\\nIn a subsequent tour of observaton I encoun-\\ntered another of these relics of a foregone\\nworld locked up in the heart of the city. I\\nhad been wandering for some time through\\ndull monotonous streets, destitute of anything\\nto strike the eye or excite the imagination,\\nwhen I beheld before me a Gothic gateway of\\nmouldering antiquity. It opened into a spa-\\ncious quadrangle forming the courtyard of a\\nstately Gothic pile, the portal of which stood\\ninvitingly open.\\nIt was apparently a public edifice, and, as I\\nwas antiquity-hunting, I ventured in, though\\nwith dubious steps. Meeting no one either to\\noppose or rebuke my intrusion, I continued on\\nuntil I found myself in a great hall with a\\nlofty arched roof and oaken gallery, all of\\nGothic architecture. At one end of the hall\\nwas an enormous fireplace, with wooden set-\\ntles on each side; at the other end was a\\nraised platform, or dais, the seat of state,\\nabove which was the portrait of a man in\\nantique garb with a long robe, a ruff, and a\\nvenerable gray beard.\\nThe whole establishment had an air of mo-\\nnastic quiet and seclusion, and what gave it a\\nmysterious charm was, that I had not met\\nwith a human being since I had passed the\\nthreshold.\\nEncouraged by this loneliness, I seated my-\\nself in a recess of a large bow window, which\\nadmitted a broad flood of yellow sunshine,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0346.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 335\\ncheckered here and there by tints from panes\\nof colored glass, while an open casement let\\nin the soft summer air. Here, leaning my\\nhead on my hand and my arm on an old oaken\\ntable, I indulged in a sort of reverie about\\nwhat might have been the ancient uses of\\nthis edifice. It had evidently been of monas-\\ntic origin; perhaps one of those collegiate\\nestablishments built of yore for the promotion\\nof learning, where the patient monk, in the\\nample solitude of the cloister, added page to\\npage and volume to volume, emulating in the\\nproductions of his brain the magnitude of the\\npile he inhabited.\\nAs I was seated in this musing mood a small\\npaneled door in an arch at the upper end of\\nthe hall was opened, and a number of gray-\\nheaded old men, clad in long black cloaks,\\ncame forth one by one, proceeding in that\\nmanner through the hall, without uttering a\\nword, each turning a pale face on me as he\\npassed, and disappearing through a door at the\\nlower end.\\nI was singularly struck with their appear-\\nance; their black cloaks and antiquated air\\ncomported with the style of this most vener-\\nable and mysterious pile. It was as if the\\nghosts of the departed years, about which I\\nhad been musing, were passing in review be-\\nfore me. Pleasing myself with such fancies,\\nI set out, in the spirit of romance, to explore\\nwhat I pictured to myself a realm of shadows\\nexisting in the very centre of substantial reali-\\nties.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0347.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "83G THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nMy ramble led me through a labyrinth of\\ninterior courts and corridors and dilapidated\\ncloisters, for the main edifice had many addi-\\ntions and dependencies, built at various times\\nand in various styles. In one open space a\\nnumber of boys, who evidently belonged to\\nthe establishment, were at their sports, but\\neverywhere I observed those mysterious old\\ngray men in black mantles, sometimes saun-\\ntering alone, sometimes conversing in groups\\nthey appeared to be the pervading genii of the\\nplace. I now called to mind what I had read\\nof certain colleges in old times, where judicial\\nastrology, geomancy, necromancy, and other\\nforbidden and magical sciences were taught.\\nWas this an establishment of the kind, and\\nwere these black-cloaked old men really pro-\\nfessors of the black art?\\nThese surmises were passing through my\\nmind as my eye glanced into a chamber hung\\nround with all kinds of strange and uncouth ob-\\njects implements of savage warfare, strange\\nidols and stuffed alligators bottled serpents\\nand monsters decorated the mantelpiece while\\non the high tester of an old-fashioned bedstead\\ngrinned a human skull, flanked on each side\\nb}^ a dried cat.\\nI approached to regard more narrowly this\\nmystic chamber, which seemed a fitting labora-\\ntory for a necromancer, when I was startled at\\nbeholding a human countenance staring at me\\nfrom a dusky corner. It was that of a small,\\nshriveled old man with thin cheeks, bright\\neyes, and gray, wiry, projecting eyebrows. I", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0348.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 337\\nat first doubted whether it were not a mummy\\ncuriously preserved, but it moved, and I saw\\nthat it was alive. It was another of these black-\\ncloaked old men, and, as I regarded his quaint\\nphysiognomy, his obsolete garb, and the hide-\\nous and sinister objects by which he was sur-\\nrounded, I began to persuade myself that I had\\ncome upon the arch-mago who ruled over this\\nmagical fraternity.\\nSeeing me pausing before the door, he rose\\nand invited me to enter. I obeyed with singu-\\nlar hardihood, for how did I know whether a\\nwave of his wand might not metamorphose me\\ninto some strange monster or conjure me into\\none of the bottles on his mantelpiece? He\\nproved, however, to be anything but a conjurer,\\nand his simple garrulity soon dispelled all the\\nmagic and mystery with which I had enveloped\\nthis antiquated pile and its no less antiquated\\ninhabitants.\\nIt appeared that I had made my way into the\\ncentre of an ancient asylum for superannuated\\ntradesmen and decayed householders, with\\nwhich was connected a school for a limited\\nnumber of boys. It was founded upwards of\\ntwo centuries since on an old monastic estab-\\nlishment, and retained somewhat of the con-\\nventual air and character. The shadowy line\\nof old men in black mantles who had passed\\nbefore me in the hall, and whom I had elevated\\ninto magi, turned out to be the pensioners\\nreturning from morning service in the chapel.\\nJohn Hallum, the little collector of curiosities\\nwhom I had made the arch magician, had been", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0349.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "338 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfor six years a resident of the place, and had\\ndecorated this final resting-place of his old age\\nwith relics and rarities picked up in the course\\nof his life. According to his own account, he\\nhad been somewhat of a traveler, having been\\nonce in France, and very near making a visit to\\nHolland. He regretted not having visited the\\nlatter country, as then he mJght have said he\\nhad been there. He was evidently a traveler\\nof the simple kind.\\nHe was aristocratical too in his notions, keep-\\ning aloaf, as I found, from the ordinary run of\\npensioners. His chief associates were a blind\\nman who spoke Latin and Greek, of both which\\nlanguages Hallum was profoundly ignorant,\\nand a broken-down gentleman who had run\\nthrough a fortune of forty thousand pounds,\\nleft him by his father, and ten thousand\\npounds, the marriage portion of his wife.\\nLittle Hallum seemed to consider it an indubi-\\ntable sign of gentle blood as well as of lofty\\nspirit to be able to squander such enormous\\nsums.\\nP. S. The picturesque remnant of old times\\ninto which I have thus beguiled the reader is\\nwhat is called the Charter House, originally the\\nChartreuse. It was founded in 1611, on the\\nremains of an ancient convent, by Sir Thomas\\nSutton, being one of those noble charities set on\\nfoot by individual munificence, and kept up\\nwith the quaintness and sanctity of ancient\\ntimes amidst the modern changes and innova-\\ntions of London. Here eighty broken-down\\nmen, who have seen better days, are provided", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0350.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 339\\nin their old age with food, clothing, fuel, and a\\nyearly allowance for private expenses. They\\ndine together, as did the monks of old, in the\\nhall which had been the refectory of the original\\nconvent. Attached to the establishment is a\\nschool for forty-four boys.\\nStow, whose work I have consulted on the\\nsubject, speaking of the obligations of the gray-\\nheaded pensioners, says, They are not to inter-\\nmeddle with any business touching the affairs\\nof the hospital, but to attend only to the ser-\\nvice of God, and take thankfully what is pro-\\nvided for them, without muttering, murmuring,\\nor grudging. None to wear weapon, long hair,\\ncolored boots, spurs, or colored shoes, feathers\\nin their hats, or any ruffian-like or tmseemly\\napparel, but such as becomes hospital-men to\\nwear. And in truth, adds Stow, happy\\nare they that are so taken from the cares and\\nsorrows of the world, and fixed in so good a\\nplace as these old men are having nothing to\\ncare for but the good of their souls, to serve\\nGod, and to live in brotherly love.\\nFor the amusement of such as have been in-\\nterested by the preceding sketch, taken down\\nfrom my own observation, and who may wish\\nto know a little more about the mysteries of\\nLondon, I subjoin a modicum of local history\\nput into my hands by an odd-looking old\\ngentleman, in a small brown wig and a snuff-\\ncolored coat, with whom I became acquainted\\nshortly after my visit to the Charter House. I\\nconfess I was a little dubious at first whether", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0351.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "340 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nit was not one of those apocryphal tales often\\npassed off upon inquiring travelers like\\nmyself, and which have brought our general\\ncharacter for veracity into such unmerited\\nreproach. On making proper inquiries, how-\\never, I have received the most satisfactory\\nassurances of the author s probity, and indeed\\nhave been told that he is actually engaged in\\na full and particular account of the very inter-\\nesting region in which he resides, of which the\\nfollowing may be considered merely as a fore-\\ntaste.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0352.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 341\\nLITTLE BRITAIN.\\nWhat I write is most true I have a whole booke\\nof cases lying by me, which if I should sette foorth,\\nsome grave auntients (within the hearing of Bow Bell)\\nwould be out of charity with me. Nash.\\nIn the centre of the great City of London\\nlies a small neighborhood, consisting of a clus-\\nter of narrow streets and courts, of very ven-\\nerable and debilitated houses, which goes by\\nthe name of Little Britain. Christ Church\\nSchool and St. Bartholomew s Hospital bound\\nit on the west Smithfield and Long Lane on\\nthe north Aldersgate Street, like an arm of\\nthe sea, divides it from the eastern part of the\\ncity; whilst the yawning gulf of Bull-and-\\nMouth Street separates it from Butcher Lane\\nand the regions of Newgate. Over this little\\nterritory, thus bounded and designated, the\\ngreat dome of St. Paul s, swelling above the\\nintervening houses of Paternoster Row, Amen\\nCorner, and Ave-Maria Lane, looks down with\\nan air of motherly protection.\\nThis quarter derives its appellation from\\nhaving been, in ancient times, the residence of\\nthe Dukes of Brittany. As London increased,\\nhowever, rank and fashion rolled off to the\\nwest, and trade, creeping on at their heels,\\ntook possession of their deserted abodes. For", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0353.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "342 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nsome time Little Britain became the great\\nmart of learning, and was peopled by the\\nbusy and prolific race of book-sellers: these\\nalso gradually deserted it, and, emigrating\\nbeyond the great strait of Newgate Street,\\nsettled down in Paternoster Row and St. Paul s\\nChurchyard, where they continue to increase\\nand multiply even at the present day.\\nBut, though thus fallen into decline, Little\\nBritain still bears traces of its former splendor.\\nThere are several houses ready to tumble\\ndown, the fronts of which are magnificently\\nenriched with old oaken carvings of hideous\\nfaces, unknown birds, beasts, and fishes, and\\nfruits and flowers which it would perplex a\\nnaturalist to classify. There are also, in Ald-\\nergate Street, certain remains of what were\\nonce spacious and lordly family mansions, but\\nwhich have in latter days been subdivided into\\nseveral tenements. Here may often be found\\nthe family of a petty tradesman, with its\\ntrumpery furniture, burrowing among the\\nrelics of antiquated finery in great rambling\\ntime-stained apartments with fretted ceilings,\\ngilded cornices, and enormous marble fire-\\nplaces. The lanes and courts also contain many\\nsmaller houses, not on so grand a scale, but,\\nlike your small ancient gentry, sturdily main-\\ntaining their claims to equal antiquity. These\\nhave their gable ends to the street, great bow\\nwindows with diamond panes set in lead, gro-\\ntesque carvings, and low arched doorways.\\nIt IS evident that the author of this interesting com-\\nmunication has included, in his general title of Little", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0354.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 343\\nIn this most venerable and sheltered little\\nnest have I passed several quiet years of exist-\\nence, comfortably lodged in the second floor of\\none of the smallest but oldest edifices. My\\nsitting-room is an old wainscoted chamber,\\nwith small panels and set off with a miscellane-\\nous array of furniture. I have a particular\\nrespect for three or four high-backed, claw-\\nfooted chairs, covered with tarnished brocade,\\nwhich bear the marks of having seen better\\ndays, and have doubtless figured in some of\\nthe old palaces of Little Britain. They seem\\nto me to keep together and to look down with\\nsovereign contempt upon their leathern-bot-\\ntomed neighbors, as I have seen decayed gentry\\ncarry a high head among the plebeian society\\nwith which they were reduced to associate.\\nThe whole front of my sitting-room is taken\\nup with a bow window, on the panes of which\\nare recorded the names of previous occupants\\nfor many generations, mingled with scraps of\\nvery indifferent gentleman-like poetry, written\\nin characters which I can scarcely decipher,\\nand which extol the charms of many a beauty\\nof Little Britain who has long, long since\\nbloomed, faded, and passed away. As I am\\nan idle personage, with no apparent occupa-\\ntion, and pay my bill regularly every week, I\\nam looked upon as the only independent\\ngentleman of the neighborhood, and, being\\ncurious to learn the internal state of a corn-\\nBritain, many of those httle lanes and courts that belong\\nimmediately to Cloth Fair.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0355.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "344 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmunity so apparently shut up within itself, I\\nhave mcnaged to work my way into all the\\nconcerns and secrets of the place.\\nLittle Britain may truly be called the heart s\\ncore of the city, the stronghold of true John\\nBullism. It is a fragment of London as it was\\nin its better days, with its antiquated folks and\\nfashions. Here flourish in great preservation\\nmany of the holiday games and customs of yore.\\nThe inhabitants most religiously eat pancakes\\non Shrove Tuesday, hot cross-buns on Good\\nFriday, and roast goose at Michaelmas; they\\nsend love-letters on Valentine s Day, burn the\\nPope on the Fifth of November, and kiss all\\nthe girls under the mistletoe at Christmas.\\nRoast beef and plum-pudding are also held in\\nsuperstitious veneration, and port and sherry\\nmaintain their grounds as the only true Eng-\\nlish wines, all others being considered vile out-\\nlandish beverages.\\nLittle Britain has its long catalogue of city\\nwonders, which its inhabitants consider the\\nwonders of the world, such as the great bell of\\nSt. Paul s, which sours all the beer when it\\ntolls; the figures that strike the hours at St.\\nDunstan s clock, the Monument; the lions in\\nthe Tower; and the wooden giants in Guild-\\nhall. They still believe in dreams and fortune-\\ntelling, and an old woman that lives in Bull-\\nand- Mouth Street makes a tolerable subsist-\\nence by detecting stolen goods and promising\\nthe girls good husbands. They are apt to be\\nrendered uncomfortable by comets and eclipses,\\nand if a dog howls dolefully at night it is looked", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0356.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 845\\nUpon as a sure sign of death in the place.\\nThere are even many ghost-stories current,\\nparticularly concerning the old mansion-\\nhouses, in several of which it is said strange\\nsights are sometimes seen. Lords and ladies,\\nthe former in full-bottomed wigs, hanging\\nsleeves, and swords, the latter in lappets,\\nstays, hoops, and brocade, have been seen\\nwalking up and down the great waste cham-\\nbers on moonlight nights, and are supposed to\\nbe the shades of the ancient proprietors in their\\ncourt- dresses.\\nLittle Britain has likewise its sages and great\\nmen. One of the most important of the for-\\nmer is a tall, dry old gentleman of the name\\nof Skryme, who keeps a small apothecary s\\nshop. He has a cadaverous countenance, full\\nof cavities and projections, with a brown circle\\nround each eye, like a pair of horn spectacles.\\nHe is much thought of by the old women, who\\nconsider him as a kind of conjurer because he\\nhas two or three stuffed alligators hanging up\\nin his shop and several snakes in bottles. He\\nis a great reader of almanacs and newspapers,\\nand is much given to pore over alarming\\naccounts of plots, conspiracies, fires, earth-\\nquakes, and volcanic eruptions; which last\\nphenomena he considers as signs of the times.\\nHe has always some dismal tale of the kind to\\ndeal out to his customers with their doses, and\\nthus at the same time puts both soul and body\\ninto an uproar. He is a great believer in\\nomens and predictions and has the prophecies\\nof Robert Nixon and Mother Shipton by heart.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0357.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "346 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nNo man can make so much out of an eclipse,\\nor even an unusually dark day and he shook\\nthe tail of the last comet over the heads of his\\ncustomers and disciples until they were nearly\\nfrightened out of their wits. He has lately\\ngot hold of a popular legend or prophecy, on\\nwhich he has been unusually eloquent. There\\nhas been a saying current among the ancient\\nsibyls, who treasure up these things, that when\\nthe grasshopper on the top of the Exchange\\nshook hands with the dragon on the top of\\nBow Church steeple, fearful events would take\\nplace. This strange conjunction, it seems,\\nhas as strangely cortie to pass. The same\\narchitect has been engaged lately on the repairs\\nof the cupola of the Exchange and the steeple\\nof Bow Church; and, fearful to relate, the\\ndragon and the grasshopper actually lie, cheek\\nby jole, in the yard of his workshop.\\nOthers, as Mr. Skryme is accustomed to\\nsay, may go star-gazing, and look for con-\\njunctions in the heavens, but here is a conjunc-\\ntion on the earth, near at home and under our\\nown eyes, which surpasses all the signs and\\ncalculations of astrologers. Since these por-\\ntentous weathercocks have thus laid their heads\\ntogether, wonderful events had already\\noccurred. The good old king, notwithstand-\\ning that he had lived eighty-two years, had all\\nat once given up the ghost another king had\\nmounted the throne; a royal duke had died\\nsuddenly another, in France, had been mur-\\ndered; there had been radical meetings in all\\nparts of the kingdom; the bloody scenes at", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0358.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 347\\nManchester; the great plot in Cato Street;\\nand, above all, the queen had returned to Eng-\\nland All these sinister events are recounted\\nby Mr. Skyrme with a mysterious look and a\\ndismal shake of the head; and being taken with\\nhis drugs, and associated in the minds of his\\nauditors with stuffed-sea-monsters, bottled\\nserpents, and his own visage, which is a title-\\npage of tribulation, they have spread great\\ngloom through the minds of the people of\\nLittle Britain. They shake their heads when-\\never they go by Bow Church, and observe that\\nthey never expected any good to come of tak-\\ning down that steeple, which in old times told\\nnothing but glad tidings, as the history of\\nWhittington and his Cat bears witness.\\nThe rival oracle of Little Britain is a sub-\\nstantial cheesemonger, who lives in a frag-\\nment of one of the old family mansions, and is\\nas magnificently lodged as a round-bellied\\nmite in the midst of one of his own Cheshires.\\nIndeed, he is a man of no little standing and\\nimportance, and his renown extends through\\nHuggin lane and Lad lane, and even unto\\nAldermanbury. His opinion is very much\\ntaken in affairs of state, having read the Sun-\\nday papers for the last half century, together\\nwith the Gentleman s Magazine, Rapin s\\nHistory of England, and the Naval Chron-\\nicle. His head is stored with invaluable\\nmaxims which have borne the test of time and\\nuse. for centuries. It is his firm opinion that\\nit is a moral impossible, so long as England\\nis true to herself, that anything can shake", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0359.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "348 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nher: and he has much to say on the subject of\\nthe national debt, which, somehow or other,\\nhe proves to be a great national bulwark and\\nblessing. He passed the greater part of his\\nlife in the purlieus of Little Britain until of\\nlate years, when, having become rich and\\ngrown into the dignity of a Sunday cane, he\\nbegins to take his pleasure and see the world.\\nHe has, therefore, made several excursions to\\nHampstead, Highgate, and other neighboring\\ntowns, where he has passed whole afternoons\\nin looking back upon the metropolis through a\\ntelescope and endeavoring to descry the steeple\\nof St. Bartholomew s. Not a stage-coachman\\nof Bull-and-Mouth Street, but touches his hat\\nas he passes, and he is considered quite a\\npatron at the coach-oflQce of the Goose and\\nGridiron, St. Paul s Churchyard. His family\\nhave been very urgent for him to make an\\nexpedition to Margate, but he has great doubts\\nof those new gimcracks, the steamboats, and\\nindeed thinks himself too advanced in life to\\nundertake sea- voyages.\\nLittle Britain has occasionally its factions\\nand divisions, and party spirit ran very high\\nat one time, in consequence of two rival\\nBurial Societies being set up in the place.\\nOne held its meeting at the Swan and Horse-\\nShoe, and was patronized by the cheesemonger;\\nthe other at the Cock and Crown, under the\\nauspices of the apothecary: it is needless to\\nsay that the latter was the most flourishing.\\nI have passed an evening or two at each, and\\nhave acquired much valuable information as to", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0360.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 349\\nthe best mode of being buried, the comparative\\nmerits of churchyards, together with divers\\nhints on the subject of patent iron coffins. I\\nhave heard the question discussed in all its\\nbearings as to the legality of prohibiting the\\nlatter on account of their durability. The\\nfeuds occasioned by these societies have hap-\\npily died of late but they were for a long time\\nprevailing themes of controversy, the people\\nof Little Britain being extremely solicitous of\\nfuneral honors and of lying comfortably in\\ntheir graves.\\nBesides these two funeral societies there is a\\nthird of quite a different cast, which tends to\\nthrow the sunshine of good-humor over the\\nwhole neighborhood. It meets once a week at\\na little old-fashioned house kept by a jolly\\npublican of the name of Wagstaff, and bearing\\nfor insignia a resplendent half-moon, with a\\nmost seductive bunch of grapes. The whole\\nedifice is covered with inscriptions to catch the\\neye of the thirsty wayfarer; such as Truman,\\nHanbury, and Go s Entire, Wine, Rum, and\\nBrandy Vaults, Old Tom, Rum, and Com-\\npounds, etc. This indeed has been a temple\\nof Bacchus and Momus from time immemorial.\\nIt has always been in the family of the Wag-\\nstaffs, so that its history is tolerably preserved\\nby the present landlord. It was much fre\u00c2\u00ab\\nquented by the gallants and cavalieros of the\\nreign of Elizabeth, and was looked into now\\nand then by the wits of Charles the Second s\\nday. But what Wagstaff principally prides\\nhimself upon is that Henry the Eighth, in one", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0361.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": "350 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nof his nocturnal rambles, broke the head of\\none of his ancestors with his famous walking-\\nstaff. This, however, is considered as rather\\na dubious and vain-glorious boast of the land-\\nlord.\\nThe club which now holds its weekly ses-\\nsions here goes by the name of the Roaring\\nLads of Little Britain. They abound in old\\ncatches, glees, and choice stories that are tra-\\nditional in the place and not to be met with in\\nany other part of the metropolis. There is a\\nmadcap undertaker who is inimitable at a\\nmerry song, but the life of the club, and in-\\ndeed the prime wit of Little Britain, is bully\\nWagstaff himself. His ancestors were all\\nv^rags before him, and he has inherited with the\\ninn a large stock of songs and jokes, which go\\nwith it from generation to generation as heir-\\nlooms. He is a dapper little fellow, with\\nbandy legs and pot belly, a red face with a\\nmoist merry eye, and a little shock of gray hair\\nbehind. At the opening of every club night\\nhe is called in to sing his Confession of\\nFaith, which is the famous old drinking\\ntrowl from Gammer Gurton s Needle. He\\nsings it, to be sure, with many variations, as\\nhe received it from his father s lips; for it has\\nbeen a standing favorite at the Half- Moon and\\nBunch of Grapes ever since it was written;\\nnay, he affirms that his predecessors have\\noften had the honor of singing it before the\\nnobility and gentry at Christmas mummeries,\\nwhen Little Britain was in all its glory.*\\nAs mine host of the Half Moon s Confession of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0362.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 351\\nIt would do one s heart good to hear, on a\\nclub night, the shouts of merriment, the\\nsnatches of song, and now and then the choral\\nbursts of half a dozen discordant voices, which\\nissue from this jovial mansion. At such times\\nthe street is lined with listeners, who enjoy a\\ndelight equal to that of gazing into a confec-\\ntioner s window or snuffing up the steams of a\\ncook-shop.\\nThere are two annual events which produce\\ngreat stir and sensation in Little Britain:\\nthese are St. Bartholomew s Fair and the Lord\\nFaith may not be familiar to the majority of readers,\\nand as it is a specimen of the current songs of Little\\nBritain, I subjoin it in its original orthography. I\\nwould observe that the whole club always join in the\\nchorus with a fearful thumping on the table and clatter-\\ning of pewter pots.\\nI cannot eate but lytle meate,\\nMy stomacke is not good,\\nBut sure I thinke that I can drinke\\nWith him that weares a hood.\\nThough 1 go bare, take ye no care,\\nI nothing am a colde,\\nI stuff my skyn so full within.\\nOf joly good ale and olde.\\nChorus. Backe and syde go bare, go bare,\\nBoth foote and hand go colde,\\nBut, belly, God send thee good ale ynoughe,\\nWhether it be new or olde.\\nI have no rost, but a nut brawne toste,\\nAnd a crab laid in the fyre\\nA little breade shall do me steade,\\nMuch breade I not desyre.\\nNo frost nor snow, nor winde, I trowe,\\nCan hurte me, ifl wolde,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0363.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": "352 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nMayor s Day. During the time of the Fair,\\nwhich is held in the adjoining regions of\\nSmithfield, there is nothing going on but gos-\\nsiping and gadding about. The late quiet\\nstreets of Little Britain are overrun with an\\nirruption of strange figures and faces; every\\ntavern is a scene of rout and revel. The fiddle\\nand the song are heard from the taproom\\nmorning, noon, and night and at each window\\nmay be seen some group of boon companions,\\nwith half-shut eyes, hats on one side, pipe in\\nmouth and tankard in hand, fondling and pros-\\ning, and singing maudlin songs over their\\nliquor. Even the sober decorem of private\\nI am so wrapt and throwly lapt\\nOf joly good ale and olde.\\nChorus. Back and syde go bare, go bare, etc.\\nAnd Tyb my wife, that, as her lyfe,\\nLoveth well good ale to seeke.\\nFull oft drynkes shee, tyll ye may see,\\nThe tears run downe her cheeke.\\nThen doth shee trowle to me the bowle,\\nEven as a mault-worme sholde,\\nAnd sayth, sweete harte, I took my parte\\nOf this jolly good ale and olde.\\nChorus. Backe and syde go bare, go bare, etc.\\nNow let them drynke, tyll they nod and winke.\\nEven as goode fellowes sholde doe,\\nThey shall not mysse to have the blisse.\\nGood ale doth bring men to\\nAnd all poore soules that have scowred bowles,\\nOr have them lustily trolde,\\nGod save the lives of them and their wives.\\nWhether they be yonge or olde.\\nChorus. Back and syde go bare, go bare, etc.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0364.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 353\\nfamilie;S, which I must say is rigidly kept np at\\nother times among my neighbors, is no proof\\nagainst this saturnalia. There is no such\\nthing as keeping maid-servants within doors.\\nTheir brains are absolutely set madding with\\nPunch and the Puppet-Show, the Flying\\nHorses, Signior Polito, the Fire- Eater, the\\ncelebrated Mr. Paap, and the Irish Giant.\\nThe children too lavish all their holiday money\\nin toys and gilt gingerbread, and fill the house\\nwith the Lilliputian din of drums, trumpets,\\nand penny whistles.\\nBut the Lord Mayor s Day is the great\\nanniversary. The Lord Mayor is looked up\\nto by the inhabitants of Little Britain as the\\ngreatest potentate upon earth, his gilt coach\\nwith six horses as the summit of human splen-\\ndor, and his procession, with all the sheriffs\\nand aldermen in his train, as the grandest of\\nearthly pageants. How they exult in the idea\\nthat the king himself dare not enter the city\\nwithout first knocking at the gate of Temple\\nBar and asking permission of the Lord\\nMayor; for if he did, heaven and earth! there\\nis no knowing what might be the consequence.\\nThe man in armor who rides before the Lord\\nMayor, and is the city champion, has orders\\nto cut down everybody that offends against the\\ndignity of the cit} and then there is the little\\nman with a velvet porringer on his head, vv^ho\\nsits at the window of the state-coach and holds\\nthe city sword, as long as a pike-staff. Odd s\\nblood! if he once draws that sword. Majesty\\nitself is not safe.\\n23 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0365.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "854 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nUnder the protection of this mighty poten-\\ntate, therefore, the good people of Little\\nBritain sleep in peace. Temple Bar is an\\neffectual barrier against all interior foes; and\\nas to foreign invasion, the Lord Mayor has but\\nto throw himself into the Tower, call in the\\ntrain-bands, and put the standing army of\\nBeef-eaters under arms, and he may bid defi-\\nance to the world\\nThus wrapped up in its own concerns, its\\nown habits, and its own opinions, Little Britain\\nhas long flourished as a sound heart to this\\ngreat fungous metropolis. I have pleased my-\\nself with considering it as a chosen spot,\\nwhere the principles of sturdy John Bullism\\nwere garnered up, like seed corn, to re-\\nnew the national character when it had run to\\nwaste and degeneracy. I have rejoiced also\\nin the general spirit of harmony that pre-\\nvailed throughout it; for though there might\\nnow and then be a few clashes of opinion be-\\ntween the adherents of cheesemonger and the\\napothecary, and an occasional feud between\\nthe burial societies, yet they were but tran-\\nsient clouds and soon passed away. The\\nneighbors met with good- will, parted with a\\nshake of the hand, and never abused each\\nother ex:ept behind their backs.\\nI could give rare descriptions of snug junket-\\ning parties at which I have been present,\\nwhere we played at All-Fours, Pope-Joan,\\nTom-come-tickle-me, and other choice old\\ngames, and where we sometimes had a good old\\nEnglish country dance to the tune of Sir", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0366.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 355\\nRoger de Coverley. Once a year also the\\nneighbors would gather together and go on a\\ngypsy party to Epping Forest. It would have\\ndone any man s heart good to see the merri-\\nment that took place here as we banqueted on\\nthe grass under the trees. How we made the\\nwoods ring with bursts of laughter at the songs\\nof little Wagstaff and the merry undertaker!\\nAfter dinner, too, the young folks would play\\nat blindman s-buff and hide-and-seek, and it\\nwas amusing to see them tangled among the\\nbriers, and to hear a fine romping girl now\\nand then squeak from among the bushes. The\\nelder folks would gather round the cheese-\\nmonger and the apothecary to hear them talk\\npolitics, for they generally brought out a news-\\npaper in, their pockets to pass away time in the\\ncountry. They would now and then, to be\\nsure, get a little warm in argument but their\\ndisputes were always adjusted by reference to\\na worthy old umbrella-maker in a double chin,\\nwho, never exactly comprehending the sub-\\nject, managed somehow or other to decide in\\nfavor of both parties.\\nAll empires, however, says some philoso-\\npher or historian, are doomed to changes and\\nrevolutions. Luxury and innovation creep in,\\nfactions arise, and families now and then\\nspring up whose ambition and intrigues throw\\nthe whole system into confusion. Thus in\\nlatter days has the tranquillity of Little Britain\\nbeen grievously disturbed and its golden sim-\\nplicity of manners threatened with total sub-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0367.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "356 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nversion by the aspiring family of a retired\\nbutcher.\\nThe family of the Lambs had long- been;\\namong the most thriving and popular in the\\nneighborhood the Miss Lambs were the belles\\nof Little Britain, and everybody was pleased\\nwhen Old Lamb had made money enough to\\nshut up shop and put his name on a brass plate\\non his door. In an evil hour, however; one of\\nthe Miss Lambs had the honor of being a lady\\nin attendance on the Lady Mayoress at her\\ngrand annual ball, on which occasion she\\nwore three towering ostrich feathers on her\\nhead. The family never got over it; they\\nwere immediately smitten with a passion for\\nhigh life; setup a one-horse carriage, put a\\nbit of gold lace found the errand-boy s hat,\\nand have been the talk and detestation of the\\nv/hole neighborhood ever since. They could\\nno longer be induced to play at Pope-Joan or\\nblindman s-buff they could endure no dances\\nbut quadrilles, which nobody had ever heard\\nof in Little Britain; and they took to reading\\nnovels, talking bad French, and playing upon\\nthe piano. Their brother, too, who had been\\narticled to an attorney, set up for a dandy and\\na critic, characters hitherto unknown in these\\nparts, and he confounded the worthy folks ex-\\nceedingly by talking about Kean, the Opera,\\nand the Edinburgh Review.\\nWhat was still worse, the Lambs gave a\\ngrand ball, to which they neglected to invite\\nany of their old neighbors; but they had a\\ngreat deal of genteel company from Theobald s", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0368.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 357\\nRoad, Red Lion Square, and other parts\\ntowards the west. There were several beaux of\\ntheir brother s acquaintance from Gray s Inn\\nLane and Hatton Garden, and not less than\\nthree aldermen s ladies with their daughters.\\nThis was not to be forgotten nor forgiven.\\nAll Little Britain was in an uproar with the\\nsmacking of whips, the lashing of miserable\\nhorses, and the rattling and jingling of hack-\\nney-coaches. The gossips of the neighborhood\\nmight be seen popping their night-caps out at\\nevery window, watching the crazy vehicles\\nrumble by and there was a knot of virulent old\\ncronies that kept a look-out from a house just\\nopposite the retired butcher s and scanned\\nand criticised every one that knocked at the\\ndoor.\\nThis dance was a cause of almost open war,\\nand the whole neighborhood declared they\\nwould have nothing more to say to the Lambs.\\nIt is true that Mrs. Lamb, when she had no\\nengagements with her quality acquaintance,\\nwould give little humdrum tea- junketings to\\nsome of her old cronies, quite, as she would\\nsay, in a friendly way; and it is equally true\\nthat her invitations were always accepted, in\\nspite of all previous vows to the contrary.\\nNay, the good ladies would sit and be de-\\nlighted with the music of the Miss Lambs, who\\nwould condescend to strum an Irish melody\\nfor them on the piano; and they would listen\\nwith wonderful interest to Mrs. Lamb s anec-\\ndoteS of Alderman Plunket s family, of Port-\\nsoken Ward, and the Misses Timberlake, the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0369.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "358 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nrich heiresses of Crutched Friars; but then\\nthey relieved their consciences and averted the\\nreproaches of their confederates by canvass-\\ning at the next gossiping convocation every-\\nthing that had passed, and pulling the Lambs\\nand their rout all to pieces.\\nThe only one of the family that could not be\\nmade fashionable was the retired butcher him-\\nself. Honest Lamb, in spite of the meekness\\nof his name, was a rough, hearty old fellow,\\nwith the voice of a lion, a head of black hair\\nlike a shoe- brush, and a broad face mottled\\nlike his own beef. It was in vain that the\\ndaughters always spoke of him as the old gen-\\ntleman, addressed him as papa in tones of\\ninfinite softness, and endeavored to coax him\\ninto a dressing-gown and slippers and other\\ngentlemanly habits. Do what they might,\\nthere was no keeping down the butcher. His\\nsturdy nature would break through all their\\nglozings. He had a hearty vulgar good-\\nhumor that was irrepressible. His very jokes\\nmade his sensitive daughters shudder, and he\\npersisted in wearing his blue cotton coat of a\\nmorning, dining at two o clock, and having a\\nbit of sausage with his tea.\\nHe was doomed, however, to share the un-\\npopularity of his family. He found his old\\ncomrades gradually growing cold and civil to\\nhim, no longer laughing at his jokes, and now\\nand then throwing out ailing at some peo-\\nple and a hint about quality binding.\\nThis both nettled and perplexed the honest\\nbutcher and his wife and daughters, with the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0370.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 359\\nconsummate policy of the shrewder sex, tak-\\ning advantage of the circumstance, at length\\nprevailed upon him to give up his afternoon s\\npipe and tankard at Wagstaff s, to sit after\\ndinner by himself and take his pint of port a\\nliquor he detested and to nod in his chair in\\nsolitary and dismal gentility.\\nThe Miss Lambs might now be seen flaunt-\\ning along the streets in French bonnets with\\nunknown beaux, and talking and laughing so\\nloud that it distressed the nerves of every\\ngood lady within hearing. They even went\\nso far as to attempt patronage, and actually\\ninduced a French daneing-master to set up in\\nthe neighborhood; but the worthy folks of\\nLittle Britain took fire at it, and did so perse-\\ncute the poor Gaul that he was fain to pack\\nup fiddle and dancing-pumps and decamp with\\nsuch precipitation that he absolutely forgot to\\npay for his lodgings.\\nI had flattered myself, at first, with the idea\\nthat all this fiery indignation on the part of\\nthe community was merely the overflowing\\nof their zeal for good old English manners\\nand their horror of innovation, and I applauded\\nthe silent contempt they were so vociferous\\nin expressing for upstart pride, French fash-\\nions, and the Miss Lambs. But I grieve to\\nsay that I soon perceived the infection had\\ntaken hold, and that my neighbors, after con-\\ndemning, were beginning to follow their ex-\\nample. I overheard my landlady importuning\\nher husband to let their daughters have one\\nquarter at French and music, and that they", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0371.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "360 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmight take a few lessons in quadrille. I even\\nsaw, in the course of a few Sundays, no less\\nthan five French bonnets, precisely like those\\nof the Miss Lambs, parading about Little\\nBritain.\\nI still had my hopes that all this folly would\\ngradually die away, that the Lambs might\\nmove out of the neighborhood, might die, or\\nmight run away with attorney s apprentices,\\nand that quiet and simplicity might be again\\nrestored to the community. But unluckily a\\nrival power arose. An opulent oilman died\\nand left a widow with a large jointure and a\\nfamily of buxom daughters. The young\\nladies had long been repining in secret at the\\nparsimony of a prudent father, which kept\\ndown all their elegant aspirings. Their ambi-\\ntion, being now no longer restrained, broke\\nout into a blaze, and they openly took the\\nfield against the family of the butcher. It is\\ntrue that the Lambs, having had the first\\nstart, had naturally an advantage of them in\\nthe fashionable career. They could speak a\\nlittle bad French, play the piano, dance quad-\\nrilles, and had formed high acquaintances;\\nbut the Trotters were not to be distanced.\\nWhen the Lambs appeared with two feathers\\nin their hats, the Miss Trotters mounted four\\nand of twice as fine colors. If the Lambs gave\\na dance, the Trotters were sure not to be be-\\nhindhand; and, though they might not boast\\nof as good company, yet they had double the\\nnumber and were twice as merry.\\nThe whole community has at length dividesd", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0372.jp2"}, "373": {"fulltext": "Westminster Abbey. Page 240-\\nSketch Book.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0373.jp2"}, "374": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0374.jp2"}, "375": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. m\\nitself into fashionable factions tinder the ban-\\nners of these two families. The old games of\\nPope-Joan and Tom-come-tickle-me are en-\\ntirely discarded there is no such thing as get-\\nting up an honest country dance; and on my\\nattempting to kiss a young lady under the\\nmistletoe last Christmas, I was indignantly\\nrepulsed, the Miss Lambs having pronounced\\nit shocking vulgar. Bitter rivalry has also\\nbroken out as to the most fashionable part of\\nLittle Britain, the Lambs standing up for the\\ndignity of Cross-Keys Square, and the Trotters\\nfor the vicinity of St. Bartholomew s.\\nThus is this little territory torn by factions\\nand internal dissensions, like the great empire;\\nwhose name it bears; and what will be the\\nresult would puzzle the apothecary himself,\\nwith all his talent at prognostics, to determine,\\nthough I apprehend that it will terminate in\\nthe total downfall of genuine John Bullism.\\nThe immediate effects are extremely un-\\npleasant to me. Being a single man, and, as\\nI observed before, rather an idle good-for-\\nnothing personage, I have been considered the\\nonly gentleman by profession in the place. I\\nstand, therefore, in high favor with both par-\\nties, and have to hear all their cabinet coun-\\nsels and mutual backbitings. As I am too\\ncivil not to agree with the ladies on all occa-\\nsions, I have committed myself most horribly\\nwith both parties by abusing their opponents.\\nI might manage to reconcile this to my con-\\nscience, which is a truly accommodating one,\\nbut I cannot to my apprehension: if the\\n24 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0375.jp2"}, "376": {"fulltext": "362 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nLambs and Trotters ever come to a reconcil-\\niation and compare notes, I am ruined.\\nI have determined, therefore, to beat a re-\\ntreat in time, and am actually looking out for\\nsome other nest in this great city where old\\nEnglish manners are still kept up, where\\nFrench is neither eaten, drunk, danced, nor\\nspoken, and where there are no fashionable\\nfamilies of retired tradesmen. This found, I\\nwill, like a veteran rat, hasten away before I\\nhave an old house about my ears, bid a long,\\nthough a sorrowful adieu to my present abode,\\nand leave the rival factions of the Lambs and\\nthe Trotters to divide the distracted empire of\\nLittle Britain.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0376.jp2"}, "377": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 363\\nSTRATFORD-ON-AVON.\\nThou soft-flowing Avon, by thy silver stream\\nOf things more than mortal sweet Shakespeare would\\ndream\\nThe fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed,\\nFor hallow d the turf is which pillow d his head.\\nGarrick.\\nTo a homeless man, who has no spot on this\\nwide world which he can truly call his own,\\nthere is a momentary feeling of something\\nlike independence and territorial consequence\\nwhen, after a weary day s travel, he kicks off\\nhis boots, thrusts his feet into slippers, and\\nstretches himself before an inn fire. Let the\\nworld without go as it may, let kingdoms rise\\nor fall, so long as he has the wherewithal to\\npay his bill he is, for the time being, the very\\nmonarch of all he surveys. The arm-chair is\\nhis throne, the poker his sceptre, and the little\\nparlor, some twelve feet square, his undisputed\\nempire. It is a morsel of certainty snatched\\nfrom the midst of the uncertainties of life it\\nis a sunny moment gleaming out kindly on a\\ncloudy day; and he who has advanced some\\nway on the pilgrimage of existence knows the\\nimportance of husbanding even morsels and\\nmoments of enjoyment. Shall I not take\\nmine ease in mine inn? thought I, as I gave\\nthe fire a stir, lolled back in my elbow-chair,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0377.jp2"}, "378": {"fulltext": "364 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nand cast a complacent look about the little par-\\nlor of the Red Horse at Stratford-on-Avon.\\nThe words of sweet Shakespeare were just\\npassing through my mind as the clock struck\\nmidnight from the tower of the church in which\\nhe lies buried. There was a gentle tap at the\\ndoor, and a pretty chambermaid, putting in\\nher smiling face, inquired, with a hesitating\\nair, whether I had rung. I understood it as a\\nmodest hint that it was time to retire. My\\ndream of absolute dominion was at an end so\\nabdicating my throne, like a prudent poten-\\ntate, to avoid being deposed, and putting the\\nStratford Guide- Book under my arm as a pil-\\nlow companion, I went to bed, and dreamt all\\nnight of Shakespeare, the Jubilee, and David\\nGarrick.\\nThe next morning was one of those quicken-\\ning mornings which w^e sometimes have in\\nearly spring, for it was about the middle of\\nMarch. The chills of a long winter had sud-\\ndenly given way the north wind had spent its\\nlast gasp and a mild air came stealing from\\nthe west, breathing the breath of life into Na-\\nture, and wooing every bud and flower to burst\\nforth into fragrance and beauty.\\nI had come to Stratford on a poetical pil-\\ngrimage. My first visit was to the house where\\nShakespeare was born, and where, according\\nto tradition, he was brought up to his father s\\ncraft of wood-combing. It is a small mean-\\nlooking edifice of wood and plaster a true nest-\\nling-place of genius, which seems to delight in\\nhatching its offspring in by-corners. The", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0378.jp2"}, "379": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 365\\nwalls of its squalid chambers are covered with\\nnames and inscriptions in every language by\\npilgrims of all nations, ranks and conditions,\\nfrom the prince to the peasant, and present a\\nsimple but striking instance of the spontaneous\\nand universal homage of mankind to the great\\npoet of Nature.\\nThe house is shown by a garrulous old lady\\nin a frosty red face, lighted up by a cold blue,\\nanxious eye, and garnished with artificial locks\\nof flazen hair curling from under an exceed-\\ningly dirty cap. She was peculiarly assiduous\\nin exhibiting the relics with which this, like\\nall other celebrated shrines, abounds. There\\nwas the shattered stock of the very matchlock\\nwith which Shakespeare shot the deer on his\\npoaching exploits. There, too, was his tobacco-\\nbox, which proves that he was a rival smoker\\nof Sir Walter Raleigh; the sword also with\\nwhich he played Hamlet; and the identical\\nlantern with which Friar Laurence discovered\\nRomeo and Juliet at the tomb. There was an\\nample supply also of Shakespeare s mulberry\\ntree, which seems to have as extraordinary\\npowers of self-multiplication as the wood of\\nthe true cross, of which there is enough extant\\nto build a ship of the line.\\nThe most favorite object of curiosity, hov/-\\never, is Shakespeare s chair. It stands in a\\nchimney-nook of a small gloomy chamber just\\nbehind what was his father s shop. Here he\\nmay many a time have sat when a boy, watch-\\ning the slowly revolving spit with all the long-\\ning of an urchin, or of an evening listening to", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0379.jp2"}, "380": {"fulltext": "366 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthe cronies and gossips of Stratford dealing\\nforth churchyard tales and legendary anec-\\ndotes of the troublesome times of England. In\\nthis chair it is the custom of every one that\\nvisits the house to sit; whether this be done\\nwith the hope of imbibing any of the inspira-\\ntion of the bard I am at a loss to say I merely\\nmention the fact, and mine hostess privately\\nassured me that, though built of solid oak,\\nsuch was the fervent zeal of devotees the chair\\nhad to be new bottomed at least once in three\\nyears. It is worthy of notice also, in the his-\\ntory of this extraordinary chair, that it par-\\ntakes something of the volatile nature of the\\nSanta Casa of Loretto, or the flying chair of the\\nArabian enchanter for, though sold some few\\nyears since to a northern princess, yet, strange\\nto tell, it has found its way back again to the\\nold chimney-corner.\\nI am always of easy faith in such matters,\\nand am very willing to be deceived where the\\ndeceit is pleasant and costs nothing. I am,\\ntherefore, a ready believer in relics, legends,\\nand local anecdotes of goblins and great men,\\nand would advise all travelers who travel for\\ntheir gratification to be the same. What is it\\nto us whether these stories be true or false, so\\nlong as we can persuade ourselves into the be-\\nlief of them and enjoy all the charm of the\\nreality? There is nothing like resolute good-\\nhumored credulity in these masters, and on this\\noccasion I went even so far as willingly to be-\\nlieve the claims of mine hostess to a lineal\\ndescent from the poet, when, unluckily for my", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0380.jp2"}, "381": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 367\\nfaith, she put into my hands a play of her own\\ncomposition, which set all belief in her own\\nconsanguinity at defiance.\\nFrom the birthplace of Shakespeare a few\\npaces brought me to his grave. He lies buried\\nin the chancel of the parish church, a large and\\nvenerable pile, mouldering with age, but richly\\nornamented. It stands on the banks of the\\nAvon on an embowered point, and separated\\nby adjoining gardens from the suburbs of the\\ntown. Its situation is quiet and retired the\\nriver runs murmuring at the foot of the church-\\nyard, and the elms which grow upon its banks\\ndroop their branches into its clear bosom. An\\navenue of limes, the boughs of which are curi-\\nously interlaced, so as to form in summer an\\narched way of foliage, leads up from the gate\\nof the yard to the church-porch. The graves\\nare overgrown with grass; the gray tomb-\\nstones, some of them nearly sunk into the\\nearth, are half covered with moss, which has\\nlikewise tinted the reverend old building.\\nSmall birds have built their nests among the\\ncornices and fissures of the walls, and keep up\\na continual flutter and chirping and rooks are\\nsailing and cawing about its lofty gray spire.\\nIn the course of my rambles I met with the\\ngray-headed sexton, Edmonds, and accom-\\npanied him home to get the key of the church.\\nHe had lived in Stratford, man and boy, for\\neighty years, and seemed still to consider him-\\nself a vigorous man, with the trivial exception\\nthat he had nearly lost the use of his legs for a\\nfew years past. His dwelling was a cottage", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0381.jp2"}, "382": {"fulltext": "368 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nlooking out upon the Avon and its bordering\\nmeadows, and was a picture of that neatness,\\norder, and comfort which pervade the humblest\\ndwelling s in this country. A low whitewashed\\nroom, with a stone floor carefully scrubbed,\\nserved for parlor, kitchen, and hall. Rows of\\npewter and earthen dishes glittered along the\\ndresser. On an old oaken table, well rubbed\\nand polished, lay the family Bible and prayer-\\nbook, and the drawer contained the family\\nlibrary, composed of about half a score of well-\\nthumbed volumes. An ancient clock, that\\nimportant article of cottage furniture, ticked\\non the opposite side of the room, with a bright\\nwarming-pan hanging on one side of it, and\\nthe old man s horn-handled Sunday cane on the\\nother. The fireplace, as usual, was wide and\\ndeep enough to admit a gossip knot within its\\njambs. In one corner sat the old man s\\ngranddaughter sewing, a pretty blue-eyed girl,\\nand in the opposite corner v/as a superannu-\\nated crony whom he addressed by the name of\\nJohn Ange, and who, I found, had been his\\ncompanion from childhood. They had played\\ntogether in infancy; they had worked together\\nin manhood; they were nov/ tottering about\\nand gossiping away the evening of life; and\\nin a short time they will probably be buried\\ntogether in the neighboring churchyard. It is\\nnot often that we see two streams of existence\\nrunning thus evenly and tranquilly side by\\nside; it is only in such quiet bosom scenes\\nof life that they are to be met with.\\nI had hoped to gather some traditionary", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0382.jp2"}, "383": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 369\\nanecdotes of the bard from these ancient chron-\\niclers, but they had nothing new to impart.\\nThe long interval during which Shakespeare s\\nwritings lay in comparative neglect has spread\\nits shadow over his history, and it is his good\\nor evil lot that scarcely anything remains to\\nhis biographers but a scanty handful of con-\\njectures.\\nThe sexton and his companion had been\\nemployed as carpenters on the preparations for\\nthe celebrated Stratford Jubilee, and they\\nremembered Garrick, the prime mover of the\\nfete, who superintended the arrangements, and\\nwho, according to the sexton, was a short\\npunch man, very lively and bustling. John\\nAnge had assisted also in cutting down Shake-\\nspeare s mulberry tree, of which he had a\\nmorsel in his pocket for sale no doubt a sov-\\nereign quickener of literary conception.\\nI was grieved to hear these two worthy\\nwights speak very dubiously of the eloquent\\ndame who shows the Shakespeare house.\\nJohn Ange shook his head when I mentioned\\nher valuable and inexhaustible collection of\\nrelics, particularly her remains of the mulberry\\ntree; and the old sexton even expressed a\\ndoubt as to Shakespeare having been born in\\nher house. I soon discovered that he looked\\nupon her mansion with an evil eye, as a rival\\nto the poet s tomb, the latter having compar-\\natively but few visitors. Thus it is that his-\\ntorians differ at the very outset, and mere\\npebbles make the stream of truth diverge into\\ndifferent channels even at the fountain-head.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0383.jp2"}, "384": {"fulltext": "370 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nWe approached the church throuo-h the ave-\\nnue of limes, and entered by a Gothic porch,\\nhighly ornamented, with carved doors of\\nmassive oak. The interior is spacious, and\\nthe architecture and embellishments superior\\nto those of most country churches. There are\\nseveral ancient monuments of nobility and\\ngentry, over some of which hang funeral\\nescutcheons and banners dropping piece-meal\\nfrom the walls. The tomb of Shakespeare is\\nin the chancel. The place is solemn and sepul-\\nchral. Tall elms wave before the pointed\\nwindows, and the Avon, which runs at a short\\ndistance from the walls, keeps up a low per-\\npetual murmur. A flat stone marks the spot\\nwhere the bard is buried. There are four\\nlines inscribed on it, said to have been v/ritten\\nby himself, and which have in them something\\nextremely awful. If they are indeed his own,\\nthey show that solicitude about the quiet of the\\ngrave which seems natural to fine sensibilities\\nand thoughtful minds:\\nGood friend, for Jesus* sake, forbeare\\nTo dig the dust inclosed here.\\nBlessed be he that spares these stones.\\nAnd curst be he that moves my bones.\\nJust over the grave, in a niche of the wall,\\nis a bust of Shakespeare, put up shortly after\\nhis death, and considered as a resemlDlance.\\nThe aspect is pleasant and serene, with a finely-\\narched forehead; and I thought I could read\\nin it clear indications of that cheerful, social\\ndisposition by which he was as much character-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0384.jp2"}, "385": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 371\\nized among his contemporaries as by the vast-\\nness of his genius. The inscription mentions\\nhis age at the time of his decease, fifty-three\\nyears an untimely death for the world, for\\nwhat fruit might not have been expected from\\nthe golden autumn of such a mind, sheltered\\nas it was from the stormy vicissitudes of life,\\nand flourishing in the sunshine of popular any\\nroyal favor?\\nThe inscription on the tombstone has not\\nbeen without its effect. It has prevented the\\nremoval of his remains from the bosom of his\\nnative place to Westminster Abbey, which was\\nat one time contemplated. A few years since\\nalso, as some laborers were digging to make\\nan adjoining vault, the earth caved in, so as to\\nleave a vacant space almost like an arch,\\nthrough which one might have reached into his\\ngrave. No one, however, presumed to meddle\\nwith his remains so awfully guarded by a mal-\\nediction and lest any of the idle or the curi-\\nous or any collector of relics should be tempted\\nto commit depredations, the old sexton kept\\nwatch over the place for two days, until the\\nvault was finished and the aperture closed\\nagain. He told me that he had made bold to\\nlook in at the hole, but could see neither cof^n\\nnor bones nothing but dust. It was some-\\nthing, I thought, to have seen the dust of\\nShakespeare,\\nNext to this grave are those of his v/ife, his\\nfavorite daughter, Mrs. Hall, and others of his\\nfamily. On a tomb close by, also, is a full-\\nlength effigy of his old friend John Combe, of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0385.jp2"}, "386": {"fulltext": "S72 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nusurious memory, on whom lie is said to have\\nwritten a ludicrous epitaph. There are other\\nmonuments around, but the mind refuses to\\ndwell on anything that is not connected with\\nShakespeare. His idea pervades the place;\\nthe whole pile seems but as his mausoleum.\\nThe feelings, no longer checked and thwarted\\nby doubt, here indulge in perfect confidence;\\nother traces of him may be false or dubious,\\nbut here is palpable evidence and absolute cer-\\ntainty. As I trod the sounding pavement\\nthere was something intense and thrilling in\\nthe idea that in very truth the remains of\\nShakespeare were mouldering beneath my feet.\\nIt was a long time before I could prevail upon\\nmyself to leave the place and as I passed\\nthrough the churchyard, I plucked a branch\\nfrom one of the yew trees, the only relic that\\nI have brought from Stratford.\\nI had now visited the usual objects of a pil-\\ngrim s devotion, but I had a desire to see the\\nold family seat of the Lucys at Charlecot, and\\nto ramble through the park where Shake-\\nspeare, in company with some of the roisterers\\nof Stratford, committed his youthful offence of\\ndeer-stealing. In this hare-brained exploit\\nwe are told that he was taken prisoner and car-\\nried to the keeper s lodge, where he remained\\nall night in doleful captivity. When brought\\ninto the presence of Sir Thomas Lucy, his\\ntreatment must have been galling and humil-\\niating; for it so wrought upon his spirit as to", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0386.jp2"}, "387": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 373\\nproduce a rough pasquinade which was affixed\\nto the park gate at Charlecot.*\\nThis flagitious attack upon the dignity of the\\nknight so incensed him that he applied to a\\nlawyer at Warwick to put the severity of the\\nlaws in force against the rhyming deer- stalker.\\nShakespeare did not wait to brave the united\\npuissance of a knight of the shire and a\\ncountry attorney. He forthwith abandoned\\nthe pleasant banks of the Avon and his pater-\\nnal trade wandered away to London became\\na hanger-on to the theatres; then an actor;\\nand finally wrote for the stage; and thus,\\nthrough the persecution of Sir Thomas Lucy,\\nStratford lost an indifferent wool-comber and\\nthe world gained an imm.ortal poet. He re-\\ntained, however, for a long time, a sense of the\\nharsh treatment of the lord of Charlecot, and\\nrevenged himself in his writings, but in the\\nsportive w^ay of a good-natured mind. Sir\\nThomas is said to be the original of Justice\\nShallow, and the satire is slyly fixed upon him\\nby the justice s armorial bearings, which, like\\n*The following is the only stanza extant of this lam-\\npoon:\\nA parliament member, a justice of peace,\\nAt home a poor scarecrow, at London an asse.\\nIf iowsie is Lucy, as some volks miscalle it.\\nThen Lucy is Iowsie, whatever befall it.\\nHe thinks himself great\\nYet an asse in his state.\\nWe allow by his ears but with asses to mate,\\nIf Lucy is Iowsie, as some volks miscalle it,\\nThen sin^ Iowsie Lucy whatever befall it.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0387.jp2"}, "388": {"fulltext": "374 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthose of the knight, had white luces* in the\\nqnarterings.\\nVarious attempts have been made by his\\nbiographers to soften and explain away this\\nearly transgression of the poet; but I look\\nupon it ^s one of those thoughtless exploits\\nnatural to his situation and turn of mind.\\nShakespeare, when young, had doubtless all\\nthe wildness and irregularity of an ardent, un-\\ndisciplined and undirected genius. The poetic\\ntemperament has naturally something in it of\\nthe vagabond. When left to itself it runs\\nloosely and wildly, and delights in everything\\neccentric and licentious. It is often a turn up\\nof a die, in the gambling freaks of fate, whether\\na natural genius shall turn out a great rogue\\nor a great poet; and had not Shakespeare s\\nmind fortunately taken a literary bias, he\\nmight have as daringly transcended all civil\\nas he has all dramatic laws.\\nI have little doubt that, in early life, when\\nrunning like an unbroken colt about the neigh-\\nborhood of Stratford, he was to be found in the\\ncompany of all kinds of odd anomalous charac-\\nters, that he associated with all the madcaps of\\nthe place, and was one of those unlucky ur-\\nchins at mention of whom old men shake their\\nheads and predict that they will one day come\\nto the gallows. To him the poaching in Sir\\nThomas Lucy s park was doubtless like a iorsLj\\nto a Scottish knight, and struck his eager, and\\n*The luce is a pike or jack, and abounds in the Avon\\nabout Charlecot.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0388.jp2"}, "389": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 375\\nas yet untamed, imagination as something\\ndelightfully adventurous.*\\nThe old mansion of Charlecot and its sur-\\nrounding park still remains in the possession of\\nthe Lucy family, and are peculiarly interesting\\nfrom being connected with this whimsical but\\n*A proof of Shakespeare s random habits and associ-\\nates in his youthful days may be found in a traditionary\\nanecdote, picked up at Stratford by the elder Ireland,\\nand mentioned in his Picturesque Views on the Avon.\\nAbout seven miles from Stratford lies the thirsty little\\nmarket-town of Bedford, famous for its ale. Two soci-\\neties of the village yeomanry used to meet, under the\\nappellation of the Bedford topers, and to challenge the\\nlovers of good ale of the neighboring villages to a con-\\ntest of drinking. Among others, the people of Strat-\\nford were called out to prove the strength of their heads\\nand in the number of the champions was Shakespeare,\\nwho, in spite of the proverb that they who drink beer\\nwill think beer, was as true to his ale as Falstaff to his\\nsack. The chivalry of Stratford was staggered at the\\nfirst onset, and sounded a retreat while they had yet the\\nlegs to carry them off the field. They had scarcely\\nmarched a mile when, their legs failing them, they were\\nforced to lie down under a crab tree, where they passed\\nthe night. It was still standing, and goes by the name\\not Shakespeare s tree.\\nIn the morning his companions awaked the bard, and\\nproposed returning to Bedford, but he declined, saying\\nhe had enough, having drank with\\nPiping Pebworth, Dancing Marston,\\nHaunted Hilbro Hungry Grafton,\\nDudging Exhall, Papist Wicksford,\\nBeggarly Broom, and Drunken Bedford.\\nThe village here alluded to, says Ireland, still\\nbears the epithets thus given them the people of Peb-\\nworth are still famed for their skill on the pipe and\\ntabor Hilborough is now called Haunted Hilborough\\nand Grafton is famous for the poverty of its soil.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0389.jp2"}, "390": {"fulltext": "376 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\neventful circumstance, in the scanty history of\\nthe bard. As the house stood at little more\\nthan three miles distance from Stratford, I re-\\nsolved to pay it a pedestrian visit, that I might\\nstroll leisurely through some of those scenes\\nfrom which Shakespeare must have derived his\\nearliest ideas of rural imagery.\\nThe country was yet naked and leafless, but\\nEnglish scenery is always verdant, and the\\nsudden change in the temperature of the\\nweather was surprising in its quickening\\neffects upon the landscape. It was inspiring\\nand animating to witness this first awakening\\nof spring; to feel its warm breath stealing\\nover the senses; to see the moist mellow earth\\nbeginning to put forth the green sprout and\\nthe tender blade, and the trees and shrubs, in\\ntheir reviving tints and bursting buds, giving\\nthe promise of returning foliage and flower.\\nThe cold snow-drop, that little borderer on the\\nskirts of winter, was to be seen with its chaste\\nwhite blossoms in the small gardens before the\\ncottages. The bleating of the new-dropt lambs\\nwas faintly heard from the fields. The spar-\\nrow twittered about the thatched eaves and\\nbudding hedges; the robin threw a livelier\\nnote into his late querulous wintry strain and\\nthe lark, springing up from the reeking bosom\\nof the meadow, towered away into the bright\\nfleecy cloud, pouring forth torrents of melody.\\nAs I watched the little songster mounting up\\nhigher and higher, until his body was a mere\\nspeck on the white bosom of the cloud, while\\nthe ear was still filled with his music, it called", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0390.jp2"}, "391": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 377\\nto mind Shakespeare s exquisite little song in\\nCymbeline\\nHark! hark! the lark at heav n s gate sings,\\nAnd Phoebus gins arise,\\nHis steeds to water at those springs,\\nOn chaliced flowers that lies.\\nAnd winking mary-buds begin\\nTo ope their golden eyes\\nWith everything that pretty bin,\\nMy lady sweet arise\\nIndeed, the whole country about here is po-\\netic ground; everything is associated with the\\nidea of Shakespeare. Every old cottage that\\nI saw I fancied into some resort of his boy-\\nhood, where he had acquired his intimate\\nknowledge of rustic life and manners, and\\nheard those legendary tales and wild supersti-\\ntions which he has woven like witchcraft into\\nhis dramas. For in his time, we are told, it\\nwas a popular amusement in winter evenings\\nto sit round the fire, and tell merry tales of\\nerrant knights, queens, lovers, lords, ladies,\\ngiants, dwarfs, thieves, cheaters, witches, fair-\\nies, goblins, and friars.*\\n*Scot, in his Discoverie of Witchcraft, enumerates\\na number of these fireside fancies And they have so\\nfraid us with host bull-beggars, spirits, witches, urchins,\\nelves, hags, fairies, satyrs, pans, faunes, syrens, kit\\nwith the can sticke, tritons, centaurs, dwarfes, giantes,\\nimps, calcars, conjurors, nymphes, changelings, incu-\\nbus, Robin-goodfellow, the spoorne, the mare, the man\\nin the oke, the hell-waine, the fier drake, the puckl^,\\nTom Thombe, hobgoblins, Tom Tumbler, boneless, and\\nsuch other bugs, that we were afraid of our own shad-\\nowes.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0391.jp2"}, "392": {"fulltext": "378 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nMy route for a part of the way lay in sight\\nof the Avon, which made a variety of the most\\nfancy doublings and windings through a wide\\nand fertile valley sometimes glittering from\\namong willows which fringed its borders;\\nsometimes disappearing among groves or be-\\nneath green banks; and sometimes rambling\\nout into full view and making an azure sweep\\nround a slope of meadow-land. This beautiful\\nbosom of country is called the Vale of the Red\\nHorse. A distant line undulating blue hills\\nseems to be its boundary, whilst all the soft\\nintervening landscape lies in a manner en-\\nchained in the silver links of the Avon.\\nAfter pursuing the road for about three\\nmiles, I turned off into a footpath, which led\\nalong the borders of fields and under hedge-\\nrows to a private gate of the park there was a\\nstile, however,* for the benefit of the pedes-\\ntrian, there being a public right of way\\nthrough the grounds. I delight in these hos-\\npitable estates, in which every one has a- kind\\nof property at least as far as the footpath is\\nconcerned. It in some measure reconciles a\\npoor man to his lot, and, what is more, to the\\nbetter lot of his neighbor, thus to have parks\\nand pleasure-grounds thrown open for his rec-\\nreation. He breathes the pure air as freely\\nand lolls as luxuriously under the shade as the\\nlord of the soil and if he has not the privilege\\nof calling all that he sees his own, he has not,\\nat the same time, the trouble of paying for it\\nand keeping it in order.\\nI now found myself among noble avenues of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0392.jp2"}, "393": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 379\\noaks and elms, whose vast size bespoke the\\ngrowth of centuries. The wind sounded sol-\\nemnly among their branches, and the rooks\\ncawed from their hereditary nests in the tree-\\ntops. The eye ranged through a long lessen-\\ning vista, with nothing to interrupt the view\\nbut a distant statue and a vagrant deer stalk-\\ning like a shadow across the opening.\\nThere is something about these stately old\\navenues that has the effect of Gothic architect-\\nure, not merely from the pretended similarity\\nof form, but from their bearing the evidence\\nof long duration, and of having had their origin\\nin a period of time with which we associate\\nideas of romantic grandeur. They betoken\\nalso the long-settled dignity and proudly-con-\\ncentrated independence of an ancient family\\nand I have heard a worthy but aristocratic old\\nfriend observe, when speaking of the sumptu-\\nous palaces of modern gentry, that money\\ncould do much with stone and mortar, but\\nthank Heaven! there was no such thing as sud-\\ndenly building up an avenue of oaks.\\nIt was from wandering in early life among\\nthis rich scenery, and about the romantic soli-\\ntudes of the adjoining park of Fullbroke, which\\nthen formed a part of the Lucy estate, that\\nsome of Shakespeare s commentators have\\nsupposed he derived his noble forest medita-\\ntions of Jaques and the enchanted woodland\\npictures in As You Like It. It is in lonely\\nwanderings through such scenes that the mind\\ndrinks deep but quiet draughts of inspiration,\\nand becomes intensely sensible of the beauty", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0393.jp2"}, "394": {"fulltext": "380 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nand majesty of Nature. The imagination\\nkindles into reverie and rapture, vague but\\nexquisite images and ideas keep breaking upon\\nit, and we revel in a mute and almost incom-\\nmunicable luxury of thought. It was in some\\nsuch mood, and perhaps under one of those\\nvery trees before me, which threw their broad\\nshades over the grassy banks and quivering\\nwaters of the Avon, that the poet s fancy may\\nhave sallied forth into that little song which\\nbreathes the very soul of a rural voluptuary:\\nUnto the greenwood tree,\\nWho loves to lie with me\\nAnd tune his merry throat\\nUnto the sweet bird s note,\\nCome hither, come hither, come hither.\\nHere shall he see\\nNo enemy,\\nBut winter and rough weather.\\nI had now come in sight of the house. It ik\\na large building of brick with stone quoins,\\nand is in the Gothic style of Queen Elizabeth s\\nday, having been built in the first year of her\\nreign. The exterior remains very nearly in\\nits original state, and may be considered a fair\\nspecimen of the residence of a wealthy country\\ngentleman of those days. A great gateway\\nopens from the park into a kind of courtyard\\nin front of the house, ornamented with a grass-\\nplot, shrubs, and flower-beds. The gateway\\nis in imitation of the ancient barbacan, being a\\nkind of outpost and flanked by towers, though\\nevidently for mere ornament, instead of de-\\nfence. The front of the house is completely in", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0394.jp2"}, "395": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 381\\nthe old style with stone-shafted casements, a\\ngreat bow-window of heavy stone-work, and a\\nportal with armorial bearings over it carved in\\nstone. At each corner of the building is an\\noctagon tower surmounted by a gilt ball and\\nweather-cock.\\nThe Avon, which winds through the park,\\nmakes a bend just at the foot of a gently-slop-\\ning bank which sweeps down from the rear of\\nthe house. Large herds of deer were feed-\\ning or reposing upon its borders, and swans\\nwere sailing majestically upon its bosom. As\\nI contemplated the venerable old mansion I\\ncalled to mind Falstaff s encomium on Justice\\nShallow s abode, and the affected indifference\\nand real vanity of the latter\\nFalstaff. You have a goodly dwelling, and a rich.\\nShallow. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beg-\\ngars all, Sir John: marry, good air.\\nWhatever may have been the joviality of\\nthe old mansion in the days of Shakespeare, it\\nhad now an air of stillness and solitude. The\\ngreat iron gateway that opened into the court-\\nyard was locked there was no show of ser-\\nvants bustling about the place the deer gazed\\nquietly at me as I passed, being no longer\\nharried by the moss-troopers of Stratford.\\nThe only sign of domestic life that I met with\\nwas a white cat stealing with wary look and\\nstealthy pace towards the stables, as if on\\nsome nefarious expedition, I must not omit\\nto mention the carcass of a scoundrel crow\\nwhich I saw suspended against the barn-wall.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0395.jp2"}, "396": {"fulltext": "382 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nas it shows that the Lucys still inherit that\\nlordly abhorrence of poachers and maintain\\nthat rigorous exercise of territorial power\\nwhich was so strenuously manifested in the\\ncase of the bard.\\nAfter prowling about for some time, I at\\nlength found my way to a la.teral portal, which\\nwas the e very-day entrance to the mansion. I\\nwas courteously received by a worthy old:\\nhousekeeper, who, with the civility and com-\\nmunicativeness of her order, showed me the\\ninterior of the house. The greater part had\\nundergone alterations and been adapted to\\nmodern tastes and modes of living: there is a\\nfine old oaken staircase, and the great hall,\\nthat noble feature in an ancient manor-house,\\nstill retains much of the appearance it must\\nhave had in thie days of Shakespeare. The\\nceiling is arched and lofty, and at one end is a\\ngallery in which stands an organ. The\\nweapons and trophies of the chase, which for-\\nmerly adorned the hall of a country gentle-\\nman, have made way for family portraits.\\nThere is a wide, hospitable fireplace, calcu-\\nlated for an ample old-fashioned wood fire, for-\\nmed)^ the rallying-place of winter festivity.\\nOn the opposite side of the hall is the huge\\nGothic bow-window, with stone shafts, which\\nlooks out upon the courtyard. Here are em-\\nblazoned in stained glass the armorial bearings\\nof the Lucy family for many generations, some\\nbeing dated in 1558. I was delighted to observe\\nin the quarterings the three white luces by\\nwhich the character of Sir Thomas was first", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0396.jp2"}, "397": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 383\\nidentified with that of Justice Shallow. They\\nare mentioned in the first scene of the Merry\\nWives of Windsor, where the justice is in a\\nrage with Falstaff, for having beaten his\\nmen, killed his deer, and broken into his Jodge.\\nThe poet had no doubt the offences of himself\\nand his comrades in mind at the time, and we\\nmay suppose the family pride and vindictive\\nthreats of the puissant Shallow to be a carica-\\nture of the pompous indignation of Sir Thomas\\nShallow. Sir Hugh, persuade me not: I will make\\na Star-Chamber matter of it if he were twenty John\\nFalstaffs, he shall not abuse Sir Robert Shallow, Esq.\\nSlender. In the county of Goster, justice of peace and\\ncoram.\\nShallow. Ay, cousin Slender, and custalorum.\\nSlender. Ay, and ratolorum too, and a gentleman\\nborn, master parson who writes himself Armigero in\\nany bill, warrant, quittance, cr obligation, Armigero.\\nShallow. Ay, that I do; and have done any time\\nthese three hundred years.\\nSlender. All his successors gone before him have\\ndone t, and all his ancestors that come after him may;\\nthey may give the dozen white luces in their coat.\\nShallow. The council shall hear it; it is a riot.\\nEvans. It is not meet the council hear of a riot;\\nthere is no fear of Got in a riot; the council, hear you,-\\nshall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a\\nriot take your vizaments in that.\\nShallow. Ha o my life, if I were young again, the\\nsword should end it!\\nNear the window thus emblazoned hung a\\nportrait, by Sir Peter Lely, of one of the Lucy\\nfamily, a great beauty of the time of Charles\\nthe Second: the old housekeeper shook her\\nhead as she pointed to the picture, and in-\\nformed me that this lady had, been sadly", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0397.jp2"}, "398": {"fulltext": "384 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\naddicted to cards, and had gambled away a\\ngreat portion of the family estate, among\\nwhich was that part of the park where Shakes-\\npeare and his comrades had killed the deer.\\nThe lands thus lost had not been entirely\\nregained by the family even at the present\\nday. It is but justice to this recreant dame\\nto confess that she had a surpassing fine hand\\nand arm.\\nThe picture which most attracted my atten-\\ntion was a great painting over the fireplace,\\ncontaining likenesses of Sir Thomas Lucy and\\nhis family who inhabited the hall in the latter\\npart of Shakespeare s lifetime. I at first\\nthought that it was the vindictive knight him-\\nself, but the housekeeper assured me that it\\nwas his son the only likeness extant of the\\nformer being an effigy upon his tomb in the\\nchurch of the neighboring hamlet of Gharle-\\ncot* The picture gives a lively idea of the\\nThis effigy is in white marble, and represents the\\nknight in complete armor. Near him lies the effigy of\\nhis wife, and on her tomb is the following inscription\\nwhich, if really composed by her husband, places him\\nquite above the intellectual level of Master Shallow:\\nHere lyeth the Lady Joyce Lucy wife of Sir Thomas\\nLucy of Charlecot in ye county of Warwick, Knight,\\nDaughter and heir of Thomas Acton of Sutton m ye\\ncounty of Worcester Esquire who departed out of this\\nwretched world to her heavenly kingdom ye lo day of\\nFebruary in ye yeare of our Lord God 1595 and of her\\nage 60 and three. All the time of her lyfe a true and\\nf aythf ul servant of her good God, never detected of any\\ncryme or vice. In religion most sounde, in love to her\\nhusband most faythful and true. In friendship most\\nconstant to wha^in trust was committed unto her most\\nsecret. In wisdom excelling. In governing of htr", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0398.jp2"}, "399": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 385\\ncostume and manners of the time. Sir\\nThomas is dressed in ruff and doublet, white\\nshoes with roses in them, and has a peaked\\nyellow, or, as Master Slender would say, **a\\ncane-colored beard. His lady is seated on\\nthe opposite side of the picture in wide ruff\\nand long stomacher, and the children have a\\nmost venerable stiffness and formality of dress.\\nHounds and spaniels are mingled in the family\\ngroup a hawk is seated on his perch in the\\nforeground, and one of the children holds a\\nbow, all intimating the knight s skill in hunt-\\ning, hawking, and archery, so indispensable\\nto an accomplished gentleman in those days.*\\nhouse, bringing up of youth in ye fear of God that did\\nconverse with her most rare and singular. A great\\nmaintayner of hospitality. Greatly esteemed of her\\nbetters misliked of none unless of the envyous. When\\nall is spoken that can be saide a woman so garnished\\nwith virtue as not to be bettered and hardly to be\\nequalled by any. As shee lived most virtuously so shee\\ndied most Godly. Set downe by him yt best did knowe\\nwhat hath byn written to be true.\\nThonias Lucye.\\nBishop Earle, speaking of the country gentlemen of\\nhis time, observes, His housekeeping is seen much in\\nthe different families of dogs and serving-men atten-\\ndant on their kennels and the deepness of their throats\\nis the depth of his discourse. A hawk he esteems the\\ntrue burden of nobility, and is exceedingly ambitious to\\nseem delighted with the sport, and have his fist gloved\\nwith his jesses. And Gilpin, in his description of a\\nMr. Hastings, remarks, He kept all sorts of hounds\\nthat run buck, fox, hare, otter, and badger and had\\nhawks of all kinds both long and short winged. His\\ngreat hall was commonly strewed with marrow-bones,\\nand full of hawk perches, hounds, spaniels, and terriers.\\n25 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0399.jp2"}, "400": {"fulltext": "386 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nI regretted to find that the ancient furni-\\nture of the hall had disappeared; for I had\\nhoped to meet with the stately elbow-chair of\\ncarved oak in which the country squire of for-\\nmer days was wont to sway the sceptre of em-\\npire over his rural domains, and in which it\\nmight be presumed the redoubted Sir Thomas\\nsat enthroned in awful state when the rec-\\nreant Shakespeare was brought before him.\\nAs I like to deck out pictures for my own en-\\ntertainment, I pleased myself with the idea\\nthat this very hall had been the scene of the\\nunlucky bard s examination on the morning\\nafter his captivity in the lodge. I fancied to\\nmyself the rural potentate surrounded by his\\nbody-guard of butler, pages, and blue-coated\\nserving-men with their badges, while the luck-\\nless culprit was brought in, forlorn and chop-\\nfallen, in the custody of game-keepers, hunts-\\nmen, and whippers-in, and followed by a\\nrabble rout of country clowns. I fancied\\nbright faces of curious housemaids peeping\\nfrom the half -opened doors, while from the\\ngallery the fair daughters of the knight leaned\\ngracefully forward, eyeing the youthful pris-\\noner with that pity that dwells in woman-\\nOn a broad hearth, paved with brick, lay some of the\\nchoicest terriers, hounds, ajid spaniels.\\nBy cock and pye, Sir, you shall not away to-night\\nI will not excuse you you shall not be excused\\nexcuses shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall\\nserve; you shall not be excused Some pigeons,\\nDavy, a couple of short-legged hens a joint of mutton;\\nand any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William\\nGook,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0400.jp2"}, "401": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 387\\nhood. Who would have thought that this\\npoor varlet, thus trembling before the brief\\nauthority of a country squire, and the sport of\\nrustic boors, was soon to become the delight\\nof princes, the theme of all tongues and ages,\\nthe dictator to the human mind, and was to\\nconfer immortality on his oppressor by a cari-\\ncature and a lampoon?\\nI was now invited by the butler to walk into\\nthe garden, and I felt inclined to visit the\\norchard and harbor where the justice treated\\nSir John Falstaff and Cousin Silence to a last\\nyear s pippin of his own grafting, with a dish\\nof caraways; but I had already spent so\\nmuch of the day in my ramblings that I was\\nobliged to give up any further investigations.\\nWhen about to take my leave I was gratified\\nby the civil entreaties of the housekeeper *and\\nbutler that I would take some refreshment\\nan instance of good old hospitality which I\\ngrieve to say, we castle-hunters seldom meet\\nwith in modern days. I make no doubt it is\\na virtue which the present representative of\\nthe Lucys inherits from his ancestors; for\\nShakespeare, even in his caricature, makes\\nJustice Shallow importunate in this respect, as\\nwitness his pressing instances to Falstaff\\nI now bade a reluctant farewell to the old\\nhall. My mind had become so completely\\npossessed by the imaginary scenes and char-\\nacters connected with it that I seemed to be\\nactually living among them. Everything\\nbrought them as it were before my eyes, and\\nas the door of the dining-room opened I almost", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0401.jp2"}, "402": {"fulltext": "388 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nexpected to hear the feeble voice of Master\\nSilence quavering forth his favorite ditty\\nTis merry in hall, when beards wag all,\\nAnd welcome merry Shrove-tide!\\nOn returning to my inn I could not but re.\\nfleet on the singular gift of the poet, to be able\\nthus to spread the magic of his mind over the\\nvery face of Nature, to give to things and\\nplaces a charm and character not their own,\\nand to turn this working-day world into a\\nperfect fairy-land. He is indeed the true en-\\nchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the\\nsenses, but upon the imagination and the\\nheart. Under the wizard influence of Shakes-\\npeare I had been walking all day in a complete\\ndelusion. I had surveyed the landscape\\nthrough the prism of poetry, which tinged\\nevery object with the hues of the rainbow. I\\nhad been surrounded with fancied beings,\\nwith mere airy nothings conjured up by poetic\\npower, yet which, to me, had all the charm of\\nreality. I had heard Jacques soliloquize be-\\nneath his oak; had beheld the fair Rosalind\\nand her companion adventuring through the\\nwoodlands; and, above all had been once more\\npresent in spirit with fat Jack Falstaff and his\\ncontemporaries, from the august Justice Shal-\\nlow down to the gentle Master Slender and\\nthe sweet Anne Page. Ten thousand honors\\nand blessings on the bard who has thus gilded\\nthe dull realities of life with innocent illu-\\nsions, who has spread exquisite and tmbought\\npleasures in my chequered path, and beguiled", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0402.jp2"}, "403": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 389\\nmy spirit in many a lonely hour with all the\\ncordial and cheering sympathies of social life\\nAs I crossed the bridge over the Avon on\\nmy return, I paused to contemplate the dis-\\ntant church in which the poet lies buried, and\\ncould not but exult in the malediction which\\nhas kept his ashes undisturbed in its quiet and\\nhallowed vaults. What honor could his name\\nhave derived from being mingled in dusty\\ncompanionship with the epitaphs and escutch-\\neons and venal eulogiums of a titled multi-\\ntude? What would a crowded corner in West-\\nminster Abbey have been, compared with this\\nreverend pile, which seems to stand in beauti-\\nful loneliness as his sole mausoleum The soli-\\ntude about the grave may be but the offspring\\nof an over- wrought sensibility; but human\\nnature is made up of foibles and prejudices,\\nand its best and tenderest affections are min-\\ngled with these factitious feelings. He who\\nhas sought renown about the world, and has\\nreaped a full harvest of worldly favor, will find,\\nafter all that there is no love, no admiration,\\nno applause, so sweet to the soul as that which\\nsprings up in his native place. It is there that\\nhe seeks to be gathered in peace and honor\\namong his kindred and his early friends.\\nAnd when the weary heart and failing head\\nbegin to warn him that the evening of life is\\ndrawing on, he turns as fondly as does the\\ninfant to the mother s arms to sink to sleep in\\nthe bosom of the scene of his childhood.\\nHow would it have cheered the spirit of the\\nyouthful bard when, wandering forth in dis-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0403.jp2"}, "404": {"fulltext": "390 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ngrace upon a doubtful world, he cast back a\\nheavy look upon his paternal home, could he\\nhave foreseen that before many years he should\\nreturn to it covered with renown; that his\\nname should become the boast and glory of\\nhis native place that his ashes should be relig-\\niously guarded as its most precious treasure\\nand that its lessening spire, on which his eyes\\nwere fixed in tearful contemplation, should\\none day become the beacon towering amidst\\nthe gentle landscape to guide the literary pil-\\ngrim of every nation to his tomb", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0404.jp2"}, "405": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 391\\nTRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER.\\nI appeal to any white man if ever he entered Logan s\\ncabin hungry, and he gave him not to eat if ever he\\ncame cold and naked, and he clothed him not. Speech\\nof an Indian Chief.\\nThere is something in the character and\\nhabits of the North American savage, taken in\\nconnection with the scenery over which he is\\naccustomed to range, its vast lakes, boundless\\nforests, majestic rivers, and trackless plains,\\nthat is, to my mind, wonderfully striking and\\nsublime. He is formed for the wilderness, as\\nthe Arab is for the desert. His nature is stern,\\nsimple, and enduring, fitted to grapple with\\ndifficulties and to support privations. There\\nseems but little soil in his heart for the sup-\\nport of the kindly virtues; and yet, if we\\nwould but take the trouble to penetrate\\nthrough that proud stoicism and habitual tac-\\niturnity which look up his character from cas-\\nual observation, we should find him linked to\\nhis fellow-man of civilized life by more of\\nthose sympathies and affections than are usu-\\nally ascribed to him.\\nIt has been the lot of the unfortunate abor-\\nigines of America in the early periods of colo-\\nnization to be doubly wronged by the white\\nmen. They have been dispossessed of their\\nhereditary possessions by mercenary and fre-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0405.jp2"}, "406": {"fulltext": "392 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nquently wanton warfare, and their characters\\nhave been traduced by bigoted and interested\\nwriters. The colonists often treated them like\\nbeasts of the forest, and the author has en-\\ndeavored to justify him in his outrages. The\\nformer found it easier to exterminate than to\\ncivilize; the latter to vilify than to discrimi-\\nnate. The appellations of savage and pagan\\nwere deemed sufficient to sanction the hostil-\\nities of both and thus the poor wanderers of\\nthe forest were persecuted and defamed, not\\nbecause they were guilty, but because they\\nwere ignorant.\\nThe rights of the savage have seldom been\\nproperly appreciated or respected by the white\\nman. In peace he has too often been the dupe\\nof artful traffic in war he has been regarded\\nas a ferocious animal whose life or death was a\\nquestion of mere precaution and convenience.\\nMan is cruelly wasteful of life when his own\\nsafety is endangered and he is sheltered by\\nimpunity, and little mercy is to be expected\\nfrom him when he feels the sting of the reptile\\nand is conscious of the power to destroy.\\nThe same prejudices, which were indulged\\nthus early, exist in common circulation at the\\npresent day. Certain learned societies have,\\nit is true, with laudable diligence, endeavored\\nto investigate and record the real characters\\nand manners of the Indian tribes; the Ameri-\\ncan government, too, has wisely and humanely\\nexerted itself to inculcate a friendly and for-\\nbearing spirit towards them and to protect", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0406.jp2"}, "407": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 393\\nthem from fraud and injustice.* The current\\nopinion of the Indian character, however, ib\\ntoo apt to be formed from the miserable hordes\\nwhich infest the frontiers and hang on thr\\nskirts of the settlements. These are too com-\\nmonly composed of degenerate beings, cor-\\nrupted and enfeebled by the vices of society,\\nwithout being benefited by its civilization.\\nThat proud independence which formed the\\nmain pillar of savage virtue has been shaken\\ndown, and the whole moral fabric lies in ruins.\\nTheir spirits are humiliated and debased by a\\nsense of inferiority, and their native courage\\ncowed and daunted by the superior knowledge\\nand power of their enlightened neighbors. So-\\nciety has advanced upon them like one of those\\nwithering airs that will sometimes breed deso-\\nlation over a whole region of fertility. It has\\nenervated their strength, multiplied their dis-\\neases, and superinduced upon their original\\nbarbarity the low vices of artificial life. It has\\ngiven them a thousand superfluous wants,\\nwhilst it has diminished their means of mere\\nexistence. It has driven before it the animals\\nof the chase, who fly from the sound of the\\naxe and the smoke of the settlement and seek\\n*The American Government has been indefatigable\\nin its exertions to ameliorate the situation of the Indi-\\nans, and to introduce among them the arts of civiliza-\\ntion and civil and religious knowledge. To protect\\nthem from the frauds of the white traders no purchase\\nof land from them by individuals is permitted, nor is\\nany person allowed to receive lands from them as a pres-\\nent without the express sanction of government. These\\nprecautions are strictly enforced.\\n26 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0407.jp2"}, "408": {"fulltext": "394 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nrefuge in the depths of remoter forests and yet\\nuntrodden wilds. Thus do we too often find\\nthe Indians on our frontiers to be the mere\\nwrecks and remnants of once powerful tribes,\\nwho have lingered in the vicinity of the settle-\\nments and sunk into precarious and vagabond\\nexistence. Poverty, repining and hopeless\\npoverty, a canker of the mind unknown in Sav-\\nage life, corrodes their spirits and blights\\nevery free and noble quality of their natOTes.\\nThey become drunken, indolent, feeble, thiev-\\nish, and pusillanimous. They loiter like vag-\\nrants about the settlements, among spacious\\ndwellings replete with elaborate comforts,\\nwhich only render them sensible of the com-\\nparative wretchedness of their own condition.\\nLuxury spreads its ample board before theit\\neyes, but they are excluded from the banquet.\\nPlenty revels over the fields, but they are starv-\\ning in the midst of its abundance the whole\\nwilderness has blossomed into a garden, but\\nthey feel as reptiles that infest it.\\nHow different was their state while yet the\\nundisputed lords of the soil Their wants were\\nfew and the means of gratification within their\\nreach. They saw every one round them shar-\\ning the same lot, enduring the same hardships,\\nfeeding on the same aliments, arrayed in the\\nsame rude garments. No roof then rose but\\nwas open to the homeless stranger; no smoke\\ncurled among the trees but he was welcome to\\nsit down by its fire and join the hunter in his\\nrepast. **For, says an old historian of New\\nEngland, their life is so void of care, and they", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0408.jp2"}, "409": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 395\\nare so loving also, that, they make use of those\\nthings they enjoy as common goods, aiid are\\ntherein so compassionate that rather than one\\nshould starve through want, they would starve\\nall thus they pass their time merrily, not re-\\ngarding our pomp, but are better content with\\ntheir own, which some men esteem so meanly\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0of. Such were the Indians whilst in the\\npride and energy of their primitive natures;\\nthey resembled those wild plants which thrive\\nbest in the shades of the forest, but shrink\\nfrom the hand of cultivation and perish be-\\nneath the influence of the sun.\\nIn discussing the savage character writers\\nhave been too prone to indulge in vulgar prej-\\nudice and passionate exaggeration, instead of\\nthe candid temper of true philosophy. They\\nhave not sufficiently considered the peculiar\\ncircumstances in which the Indians have been\\nplaced, and the peculiar principles under which\\nthey have been educated. No beings acts\\nmore rigidly from rule than the Indian. His\\nwhole conduct is regulated according to some\\ngeneral maxims early implanted in his mind.\\nThe moral laws that govern him are, to be\\nsure, but few; but then he conforms to them\\nall the white man abounds in laws of religion,\\nmorals and manners, but how many does he\\nviolate\\nA frequent ground of accusation against the\\nIndians is their disregard of treaties, and the\\ntreachery and wantonness with which, in time\\nof apparent peace, they will suddenly fly to\\nhostilities. The intercourse of the white men", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0409.jp2"}, "410": {"fulltext": "j396 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwith the Indians, however, is too apt to be\\ncold, distrustful, oppressive, and insulting.\\nThey seldom treat them with that confidence\\nand frankness which are indispensable to real\\nfriendship, nor is sufficient caution observed\\nnot to offend against those feelings of pride or\\nsuperstition which often prompt the Indian to\\nhostility quicker than mere considerations of\\ninterest. The solitary savage feels silently,\\nbut acutely. His sensibilities are not diffused\\nover so wide a surface as those of the white\\nman, but they run in steadier and deeper chan-\\nnels. His ^pride, his affections, his supersti-\\ntions, are all directed towards fewer objects,\\nbut the wounds inflicted on them are propor-\\ntionately severe, and furnish motives of hostil-\\nity which we cannot sufficiently appreciate.-\\nWhere a community is also limited in number,\\nand forms one great patriarchal family, as in\\nan Indian tribe, the injury of an individual is\\nthe injury of the whole, and the sentiment of\\nvengeance is almost instantaneously diffused.\\nOne council-fire is sufficient for the discussion\\nand arrangement of a plan of hostilities. Here\\nall the fighting-men and sages assemble. Elo-\\nquence and superstition combine to inflame\\nthe minds of the warriors. The orator awak-\\nens their martial ardor, and they are wrought\\ntip to a kind of religious desperation by the\\nvisions of the prophet and the dreamer.\\nAn instance of one of those sudden exasper-,\\nations, arising from a motive peculiar to the\\nIndian character, is extant in an old record of\\nthe early settlement of Massachusetts. The", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0410.jp2"}, "411": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 397\\nplanters of Plymouth had defaced the monn-\\nments of the dead at Passonagessit, and had\\nplundered the grave of the Sachem s mother\\nof some skins with which it had been decor-\\nated. The Indians are remarkable for the rev-\\nerence which they entertain for the sepulchres\\nof their kindred. Tribes that have passed gen-\\nerations exiled from the abodes of their ances-\\ntors, when by chance they have been traveling\\nin the vicinity, have been known to turn aside\\nfrom the highway, and, guided by wonderfully\\nurate tradition, have crossed the country\\nmiles to some tumulus, buried perhaps in\\nwoods, where the bones of their tribe were an-\\nciently deposited, and there have passed hours\\nin silent meditation. Influenced by this sub-\\nlime and holy feeling, the Sachem whose\\nmother s tomb had been violated gathered his\\nmen together, and addressed them in the fol-\\nlowing beautifully simple and pathetic haran-\\ngue a curious specimen of Indian eloquence\\nand an affecting instance of filial piety in a\\nsavage\\nWhen last the gloriotis light of all the sky\\nwas underneath this globe and birds grew\\nsilent, I began to settle, as my custom is, ta\\ntake repose. Before mine eyes were fast\\nclosed methought I saw a vision, at which my\\nspirit was much troubled; and trembling at\\nthat doleful sight, a spirit cried aloud, Behold,\\nmy son whom I have cherished, see the breasts\\nthat gave thee suck, the hands that lapped\\nthee warm and fed thee oft. Canst thou for-\\nget to take revenge of those wild people v/ho", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0411.jp2"}, "412": {"fulltext": "398 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nliave defaced my monument in a despiteful\\nmanner, disdaining our antiquities and honor-\\nable customs? See, now, the Sachem s grave\\nlies like the common people, defaced by an\\nignoble race. Thy mother doth complain and\\nimplores thy aid against this thievish people\\nwho have newly intruded on our land. If this\\nl3e suffered, I shall not rest quiet in my ever-\\nlasting habitation. This said, the spirit van-\\nished, and I, all in a sweat, not able scarce to\\nspeak, began to get some strength and recol-\\nlect my spirits that were fled, and determined\\nto demand your counsel and assistance.\\nI have adduced this anecdote at some length,\\nas it tends to show how these sudden acts of\\nhostility, which have been attributed to caprice\\nand perfidy, may often arise from deep and\\ngenerous motives, which our inattention to\\nIndian character and customs prevents our\\nproperly appreciating.\\nAnother ground of violent outcry against\\nthe Indians is their barbarity to the vanquished.\\nThis had its origin partly in policy and partly\\nin superstition. The tribes, though sometimes\\ncalled nations, were never so formidable in\\ntheir numbers but that the loss of several war-\\nriors was sensibly felt; this was particularly\\nthe case when they had been frequently en-\\ngaged in warfare; and many an instance\\noccurs in Indian history where a tribe that\\nliad long been formidable to its neighbors has\\nl)een broken up and driven away by the cap-\\nture and massacre of its principal fighting-\\nanen. There was a strong temptation, there-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0412.jp2"}, "413": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 399\\nfore, to the victor to be merciless, not so much\\nto gratify any cruel revenge, as to provide for\\nfuture securit}^ The Indians had also the\\nsuperstitious belief, frequent among barbarous\\nnations and prevalent also among the ancients,\\nthat the manes of their friends who had fallen\\nin battle were soothed by the blood of the cap-\\ntives. The prisoners, however, who are not\\nthus sacrificed are adopted into their families\\nin the place of the slain, and are treated with\\nthe confidence and affection of relatives and\\nfriends nay, so hospitable and tender is their\\nentertainment that when the alternative is\\noffered them they will often prefer to remain\\nwith their adopted brethren rather than return\\nto the home and the friends of their youth.\\nThe cruelty of the Indians towards their\\nprisoners has been heightened since the colo-\\nnization of the whites. What was formerly a\\ncompliance with policy and superstition has\\nbeen exasperated into a gratification of ven-\\ngeance. They cannot but be sensible that the\\nwhite men are the usurpers of their ancient\\ndominion, the cause of their degradation, and\\nthe gradual destroyers of their race. They go\\nforth to battle smarting with injuries and\\nindignities which they have individually\\nsuffered, and they are driven to madness and\\ndespair by the wide-spreading desolation and\\nthe overwhelming ruin of European warfare.\\nThe whites have too frequently set them an\\nexample of violence by burning their villages\\nand laying waste their slender means of sub-\\nsistence, and yet they wonder that savages do", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0413.jp2"}, "414": {"fulltext": "400 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nnot show moderation and magnanimity towards\\nthose who have left them nothing- but mere\\nexistence and wretchedness.\\nWe stigmatize the Indians, also, as cowardly\\nand treacherous, because they use stratagem\\nin warfare in preference to open force but in\\nthis they are fully justified by their rude code\\nof honor. They are early taught that strata-\\ngem is praiseworthy; the bravest warrior\\nthinks it no disgrace to lurk in silence, and take\\nevery advantage of his foe he triumphs in the\\nsuperior craft and sagacity by which he has\\nbeen enabled to surprise and destroy an\\nenemy. Indeed, man is naturally more prone\\nto subtilty than open valor, owing to his phys-\\nical weakness in comparison with other ani-\\nmals. They are endowed with natural weapons\\nof defence, with horns, with tusks, with hoofs,\\nand talons; but man has to depend on his\\nsuperior sagacity. In all his encounters with\\nthese, his proper enemies, he resorts to strata-\\ngem; and when he perversely turns his hos-\\ntility against his fellow-man, he at first con-\\ntinues the same subtle mode of warfare.\\nThe natural principle of war is to do the most\\nharm to our enemy with the least harm to our-\\nselves; and this of course is to be effected by\\nstratagem. That chivalrous courage which\\ninduces us to despise the suggestions of pru-\\ndence and to rush in the face of certain danger\\nis the offspring of society and produced by\\neducation. It is honorable, because it is in\\nfact the triumph of lofty sentiment over an\\ninstinctive repugnance to pain, and over those", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0414.jp2"}, "415": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 401\\nyearnings after personal ease and security\\nwhich society has condemned as ignoble. It is\\nkept alive by pride and the fear of shame and\\nthus the dread of real evil is overcome by the\\nsuperior dread of an evil which exists but in\\nthe imagination. It has been cherished and\\nstimulated also by various means. It has been\\nthe theme of spirit-stirring song and chivalrous\\nstory. The poet and minstrel have delighted\\nto shed round it the splendors of fiction, and\\neven the historian has forgotten the sober\\ngravity of narration and broken forth into\\nenthusiasm and rhapsody in its praise. Tri-\\numphs and gorgeous pageants have been its\\nreward: monuments, on which art has ex-\\nhausted its skill and opulence its treasures,\\nhave been erected to perpetuate a nation s\\ngratitude and admiration. Thus artificially\\nexcited, courage has risen to an extraordinary\\nand factitious degree of heroism, and, arrayed\\nin all the glorious pomp and circumstance of\\nwar, this turbulent quality has even been able\\nto eclipse many of those quiet but invaluable\\nvirtues which silently ennoble the human\\ncharacter and swell the tide of human happi-\\nness.\\nBut if courage intrinsically consists in the\\ndefiance of danger and pain, the life of the\\nIndian is. a continual exhibition of it. He\\nlives in a state of perpetual hostility and risk.\\nPeril and adventure are congenial to his\\nnature, or rather seem necessary to arouse\\nhis faculties and to give an interest to his ex-\\nistence. Surrounded by hostile tribes, whose\\n26", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0415.jp2"}, "416": {"fulltext": "402 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmode of warfare is by ambush and surprisal,\\nhe is always prepared for fight and lives with\\nhis weapons in his hands. As the ship careers\\nin fearful singleness through the solitudes of\\nocean, as the bird mingles among clouds and\\nstorms, and wings its way, a mere speck,\\nacross the pathless fields of air, so the Indian\\nholds his course, silent, solitary, but un-\\ndaunted, through the boundless bosom of the\\nwilderness. His expeditions may vie in dis-\\ntance and danger with the pilgrimage of the\\ndevotee or the crusade of the knight-errant.\\nHe traverses vast forests exposed to the haz-\\nards of lonely sickness, of lurking enemies, and\\npining famine. Stormy lakes, those great\\ninland seas, are no obstacles to his wander-\\nings in his light canoe of bark he sports like\\na feather on their waves, and darts with the\\nswiftness of an arrow down the roaring rapids\\nof the rivers. His very subsistence is snatched\\nfrom the midst of toil and peril. He gains\\nhis food by the hardships and dangers of the\\nchase: he wraps himself in the spoils of the\\nbear, the panther, and the buffalo, and sleeps\\namong the thunders of the cataract.\\nNo hero of ancient or modern days can sur-\\npass the Indian in his lofty contempt of death\\nand the fortitude with which he sustains his\\ncruelist affliction. Indeed, we here behold\\nhim rising superior to the white man in con-\\nsequence of his peculiar education. The latter\\nrushes to glorious death at the cannon s mouth;\\nthe former calmly contemplates its approach,\\nand triumphantly endures it amidst the varied", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0416.jp2"}, "417": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 403\\ntorments of surrounding foes and the pro-\\ntracted agonies of fire. He even takes a pride\\nin taunting his persecutors and provoking their\\ningenuity of torture; and as the devouring\\nflames prey on his very vitals and the flesh\\nshrinks from the sinews, he raises his last song\\nof triuimph, breathing the defiance of an uncon-\\nquered heart and invoking the spirits of his\\nfathers to witness that he dies without a groan.\\nNotwithstanding the obloquy with which\\nthe early historians have overshadowed the\\ncharacters of the unfortunate natives, some\\nbright gleams occasionally break through\\nwhich throw a degree of melancholy lustre on\\ntheir memories. Facts are occasionally to be\\nmet with in the rude annals of the eastern\\nprovinces which, though recorded with the\\ncoloring of prejudice and bigotry, yet speak\\nfor themselves, and will be dwelt on with\\napplause and sympathy when prejudice shall\\nhave passed away.\\nIn one of the homely narratives of the\\nIndian wars in New England there is a touch-\\ning account of the desolation carried into the\\ntribe of the Pequod Indians. Humanity\\nshrinks from the cold-blooded detail of indis-\\ncriminate butchery. In one place we read of\\nthe surprisal of an Indian fort in the night,\\nwhen the wigwams were wrapped in flames and\\nthe miserable inhabitants shot down and slain\\nin attempting to escape, all being despatched\\nand ended in the course of an hour. After\\na series of similar transactions our soldiers,\\nas the historian piously observes, being", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0417.jp2"}, "418": {"fulltext": "404 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nresolved by God s assistance to make a final\\ndestruction of them, the unhappy savages\\nbeing hunted from their homes and fortresses\\nand pursued with fire and sword, a scanty but\\ngallant band, the sad remnant of the Pequod\\nwarriors, with their wives and children took\\nrefuge in a swamp.\\nBurning with indignation and rendered sul-\\nlen by despair, with hearts bursting with grief\\nat the destruction of their tribe, and spirits\\ngalled and sore at the fancied ignominy of their\\ndefeat, they refused to ask their lives at the\\nhands of an insulting foe, and preferred death\\nto submission.\\nAs the night grew on they ^ere surrounded\\nin their dismal retreat, so as to render escape\\nimpracticable. Thus situated, their enemy\\nplied them with shot all the time, by which\\nmeans many were killed and buried in the\\nmire. In the darkness and fog that preceded\\nthe dawn of day some few broke through the\\nbesiegers and escaped into the v/oods; the\\nrest were left to the conquerors, of which\\nmany were killed in the swamp, like sullen\\ndogs who would rather, in their self-willedness\\nand madness, sit still and be shot through or\\ncut to pieces than implore for mercy. When\\nthe day broke upon this handful of forlorn\\nbut dauntless spirits, the soldiers, we are told,\\nentering the swamp, saw several heaps of\\nthem sitting close together, upon whom they\\ndischarged their pieces, laden with ten or\\ntwelve pistol bullets at a time, putting the\\nmuzzles of the pieces under the boughs, within", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0418.jp2"}, "419": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 405\\na few yards of them so as, besides those that\\nwere found dead, many more were killed and\\nsunk into the mire, and never were minded\\nmore by friend or foe.\\nCan any one read this plain unvarnished tale\\nwithout admiring the stern resolution, the\\nunbending pride, the loftiness of spirit that\\nseemed to nerve the hearts of these self-taught\\nheroes and to raise them above the instinctive\\nfeelings of human nature? When the Gauls\\nlaid waste the city of Rome, they found the\\nsenators clothed in their robes and seated with\\nstern tranquillity in their curule chairs; in\\nthis manner they suffered death without\\nresistance or even supplication. Such conduct\\nwas in them applauded as noble and magnani-\\nmous in the hapless Indian it was reviled as\\nobstinate and sullen. How truly are we the\\ndupes of show and circumstance How differ-\\nent is virtue clothed in purple and enthroned in\\nstate, from virtue naked and destitute and\\nperishing obscurely in a wilderness\\nBut I forbear to dwell on these gloomy pic-\\ntures. The eastern tribes have long since dis-\\nappeared the forests that sheltered them have\\nbeen laid low, and scarce any traces remain of\\nthem in the thickly-settled States of New Eng-\\nland, excepting here and there the Indian\\nname of a village or a stream. And such must,\\nsooner or later, be the fate of those other\\ntribes which skirt the frontiers, and have occa-\\nsionally been inveigled from their forests to\\nmingle in the wars of white men. In a little\\nwhile, and they will go the way that their", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0419.jp2"}, "420": {"fulltext": "406 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nbrethren have gone before. The few hordes\\nwhich still linger about the shores of Huron\\nand Superior and the tributary streams of the\\nMississippi will share the fate of those tribes\\nthat once spread over Massachusetts and Con-\\nnecticut and lorded it along the proud banks\\nof the Hudson, of that gigantic race said to\\nhave existed on the borders of the Susque-\\nhanna, and of those various nations that\\nflourished about the Potomac and the Rap-\\npahannock and that peopled forests of the\\nvast valley of Shenandoah. They will vanish\\nlike a vapor from the face of the earth their\\nvery history will be lost in forgetfulness and\\nthem no more forever. Or if, perchance, some\\nthe places that now know them will know\\ndubious memorial of them should survive, it\\nmay be in the romantic dreams of the poet, to\\npeople in imagination his glades and groves,\\nlike the fauns and satyrs and sylvan deities of\\nantiquity. But should he venture upon the\\ndark story of their wrongs and wretchedness,\\nshould he tell how they were invaded, cor-\\nrupted, despoiled, driven from their native\\nabodes and the sepulchres of their fathers,\\nhunted like wild beasts about the earth, and\\nsent down with violence and butchery to the\\ngrave, posterity will either turn with horror\\nand incredulity from the tale or blush with\\nindignation at the inhumanity of their fore-\\nfathers. We are driven back, said an old\\nwarrior, until we can retreat no farther our\\nhatchets are broken, our bows are snapped,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0420.jp2"}, "421": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 407\\nour fires are nearly extinguished; a little\\nlonger and the white man will cease to per-\\nsecute us, for we shall cease to exist!", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0421.jp2"}, "422": {"fulltext": "408 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nPHILIP OF POKANOKET.\\nAN INDIAN MEMOIR.\\nAs monumental bronze unchanged his look\\nA soul that pity touch d, but never shook;\\nTrain d from his tree-rock d cradle to his bier,\\nThe fierce extremes of good and ill to brook\\nImpassive fearing but the shame of fear\\nA stoic of the woods a man without a tear.\\nCampbell.\\nIt is to be regretted that those early writers\\nwho treated of the discovery and settlement\\nof America have not given us more particular\\nand candid accounts of the remarkable charac-\\nters that flourished in savage life. The scanty-\\nanecdotes which have reached us are full of\\npeculiarity and interest they furnish us with\\nnearer glimpses of human nature, and show\\nwhat man is in a comparatively primitive state\\nand what he owes to civilization. There is\\nsomething of the charm of discovery in light-\\ning- upon these wild and unexplored tracts of\\nhuman nature in witnessing, as it were, the\\nnative growth of moral sentiment, and perceiv-\\ning those generous and romantic qualities\\nwhich have been artificially cultivated by-\\nsociety vegetating in spontaneous hardihood\\nand rude magnificence.\\nIn civilized life, where the happiness, and\\nindeed almost the existence, of man depends so", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0422.jp2"}, "423": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 409\\nmuch upon the opinion of his fellow-men, he is\\nconstantly acting a studied part. The bold\\nand peculiar traits of native character are\\nrefined away or softened down by the leveling\\ninfluence of what is termed good-breeding, and\\nhe practices so many petty deceptions and\\naffects so many generous sentiments for the\\npurposes of popularity that it is difficult to dis-\\ntinguish his real from his artificial character.\\nThe Indian, on the contrary, free from the\\nrestraints and refinements of polished life, and\\nin a great degree a solitary and independent\\nbeing, obeys the impulses of his inclination or\\nthe dictates of his judgment; and thus the\\nattributes of his nature, being freely indulged,\\ngrow singly great and striking. Society is like\\na lawn, where every roughness is smoothed,\\nevery bramble eradicated, and where the eye\\nis delighted by the smiling verdure of a velvet\\nsurface; he, however, who would study Nature\\nin its wildness and variety must plunge into\\nthe forest, must explore the glen, must stem\\nthe torrent, and dare the precipice.\\nThese reflections arose on casually looking\\nthrough a volume of early colonial history\\nwherein are recorded, with great bitterness,\\nthe outrages of the Indians and their wars with\\nthe settlers of New England. It is painful to\\nperceive, even from these partial narratives,\\nhow the footsteps of civilization may be traced\\nin the blood of the aborigines how easily the\\ncolonists were moved to hostility by the lust of\\nconquest; how merciless and exterminating\\nwas their warfare. The imagination shrinks", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0423.jp2"}, "424": {"fulltext": "410 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nat the idea of how many intellectual beings\\nwere hunted from the earth, how many\\nbrave and noble hearts, of Nature s sterling\\ncoinage, were broken down and trampled in\\nthe dust.\\nSuch was the fate of Philip of Pokanoket, an\\nIndian warrior whose name was once a terror\\nthroughout Massachusetts and Connecticut.\\nHe was the most distinguished of a number of\\ncontemporary sachems who reigned over the\\nPequods, the Narragansetts, the Wampanoags,\\nand the other eastern tribes at the time of the\\nfirst settlement of New England\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a band of\\nnative untaught heroes who made the most\\ngenerous struggle of which human nature is\\ncapable, fighting to the last gasp in the cause\\nof their country, without a hope of victory or\\na thought of renown. Worthy of an age of\\npoetry and fit subjects for local story and\\nromantic fiction, they have left scarcely any\\nauthentic traces on the page of history, but\\nstalk like gigantic shadows in the dim twilight\\nof tradition.*\\nWhen the Pilgrims, as the Plymouth settlers\\nare called by their descendants, first took\\nrefuge on the shores of the New World from\\nthe religious persecutions of the Old, their\\nsituation was to the last degree gloomy and dis-\\nheartening. Few in number, and that number\\nrapidly perishing away through sickness and\\nWhile correcting the proof-sheets of this article the\\nauthor is informed that a celebrated English poet has\\nnearly finished an heroic poem on the story of Fhilip of\\nPokanoket.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0424.jp2"}, "425": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 411\\nhardships, surrounded by a howling wilderness\\nand savage tribes, exposed to the rigors of an\\nalmost arctic winter and the vicissitudes of an\\never-shifting climate, their minds were filled\\nwith doleful forebodings, and nothing pre-\\nserved them from sinking into despondency\\nbut the strong excitement of religious enthus-\\niasm. In this forlorn situation they were vis-\\nited by Massasoit chief sagamore of the Wam-\\npanoags, a powerful chief who reigned over a\\ngreat extent of country. Instead of taking\\nadvantage of the scanty number of the strang-\\ners and expelling them from his territories,\\ninto which they had intruded, he seemed at\\nonce to conceive for them a generous friend-\\nship, and extended towards them the rites of\\nprimitive hospitality. He came early in the\\nspring to their settlement of New Plymouth,\\nattended by a mere handful of followers,\\nentered into a solemn league of peace and\\namity, sold them a portion of the soil, and\\npromised to secure for them the good-will of\\nhis savage allies. Whatever may be said of\\nIndian perfidy, it is certain that the integrity\\nand good faith of Massasoit have never been\\nimpeached. He continued a firm and magnan-\\nimous friend of the white men, suffering them\\nto extend their possessions and to strengthen\\nthemselves in the land, and betraying no jeal-\\nousy of their increasing power. and prosperity.\\nShortly before his death, he came once more\\nto New Plymouth with his son Alexander, foi\\nthe purpose of renewing the covenant of peace\\nand of securing it to his posterity.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0425.jp2"}, "426": {"fulltext": "412 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nAt this conference he endeavored to protect\\nthe religion of his forefathers from the\\nencroaching zeal of the missionaries, and stip-\\nulated that no further attempt should be made\\nto draw off his people from their ancient faith;\\nbut, finding the English obstinately opposed\\nto any such condition, he mildly relinquished\\nthe demand. Almost the last act of his life\\nwas to bring his two sons, Alexander and Philip\\n(as they had been named by the English), to\\nthe residence of a principal settler recom-\\nmending mutual kindness and confidence, and\\nentreating that the same love and amity which\\nhad existed between the white men and him-\\nself might be continued afterwards with his\\nchildren. The good old sachem died in peace,\\nand was happily gathered to his fathers before\\nsorrow came upon his tribe; his children\\nremained behind to experience the ingratitude\\nof white men.\\nHis eldest son, Alexander, succeeded him.\\nHe was of a quick and impetuous temper, and\\nproudly tenacious of his hereditary rights and\\ndignity. The intrusive policy and dictatorial\\nconduct of the strangers excited his indigna-\\ntion, and he beheld with uneasiness their\\nexterminating wars with the neighboring\\ntribes. He was doomed soon to incur e their\\nhostility, being accused of plotting with the\\nNarragansetts to rise against the English and\\ndrive them from the land. It is impossible to\\nsay whether this accusation was warranted by\\nfacts or was grounded on mere suspicions. It\\nis evident, however, by the violent and over-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0426.jp2"}, "427": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 413\\nbearing measures of the settlers that they had\\nby this time begun to feel conscious of the\\nrapid increase of their power, and to grow\\nharsh and inconsiderate in their treatment of\\nthe natives. They despatched an armed force\\nto seize upon Alexander and to bring him\\nbefore their courts. He was traced to his\\nwoodland haunts, and surprised at a hunting-\\nhouse where he was reposing with a band of\\nhis followers, unarmed, after the toils of the\\nchase. The suddenness of his arrest and the\\noutrage offered to Ijis sovereign dignity so\\npreyed upon the irascible feelings of this\\nproud savage as. to throw him into a raging\\nfever. He was permitted to return home on\\ncondition of sending his son as a pledge for his\\nre- appearance but the blow he had received\\n.was fatal, and before he reached his home he\\nfell a victim to the agonies of a wounded spirit.\\nThe successor of Alexander was Metamocet,\\nor King Philip, as he was called by the settlers\\non account of his lofty spirit and ambitious\\ntemper. These, together with his well-known\\nenergy and enterprise, had rendered him an\\nobject of great jealousy and apprehension, and\\nhe was accused of having always cherished a\\nsecret and implacable hostility towards the\\nwhites. Such may very probablj^ and very\\nnaturally have been the case. He considered\\nthem as originally but mere intruders into the\\ncountry, who had presumed upon indulgence\\nand were extending an influence baneful to\\nsavage life. He saw the whole race of his\\ncountrymen melting before them from the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0427.jp2"}, "428": {"fulltext": "414 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nface of the earth, their territories slipping from\\ntheir hands, and their tribes becoming feeble,\\nscattered and dependent. It may be said that\\nthe soil was originally purchased by the\\nsettlers; but who does not know the nature of\\nIndian purchases in the early periods of colo-\\nnization? The Europeans always made thrifty\\nbargains through their superior adroitness in\\ntraffic, and they gained vast accessions of ter-\\nritory by easily-provoked hostilities. An\\nuncultivated savage is never a nice inquirer\\ninto the refinements of law by which an injury\\nmay be gradually and legally inflicted. Lead-\\ning facts are all by which he judges; audit\\nwas enough for Philip to know that before the\\nintrusion of the Europeans his coutrymen were\\nlords of the soil, and that now they were\\nbecoming vagabonds in the land of their\\nfathers.\\nBut whatever may have been his feelings of\\ngeneral hostility and his particular indigna-\\ntion at the treatment of his brother, he sup-\\npressed them for the present, renewed the con-\\ntract with the settlers, and resided peaceably\\nfor many years at Pokanoket, or as it was\\ncalled by the English, Mount Hope,* the\\nancient seat of dominion of his tribe. Suspic-\\nions, however, which were at first but vague\\nand indefinite, began to acquire form and sub-\\nstance, and he was at length charged with\\nattempting to instigate the various eastern\\ntribes to rise at once, and by a simultaneous\\nNow Bristol, Rhode Island.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0428.jp2"}, "429": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 415\\neffort to throw off the yoke of their oppressors.\\nIt is difficult at this distant period to assign\\nthe proper credit due to these early accusations\\nagainst the Indians. There was a proneness\\nto suspicion and an aptness to acts of violence\\non the part of the whites that gave weight and\\nimportance to every idle tale. Informers\\nabounded where tale-bearing met with counte-\\nnance and reward, and the sword was readily\\nunsheathed when its success was certain and\\nit carved out empire.\\nThe only positive evidence on record against\\nPhilip is the accusation of one Sausaman, a\\nrenegado Indian, whose natural cunning had\\nbeen quickened by a partial education which\\nhe had received among the settlers. He\\nchanged his faith and his allegiance two or\\nthree times with a facility that evinced the\\nlooseness of his principles. He had acted for\\nsome time as Philip s confidential secretary\\nand counselor, and had enjoyed his bounty\\nand protection. Finding, however, that the\\nclouds of adversity were gathering round his\\npatron, he abandoned his service and went\\nover to the whites, and in order to gain their\\nfavor charged his former benefactor with plot-\\nting against their safety. A rigorous investi-\\ngation took place. Philip and several of his\\nsubjects submitted to be examined, but nothing\\nwas proved against them. The settlers, how-\\never, had now gone too far to retract; they\\nhad previously determined that Philip was a\\ndangerous neighbor; they had publicly evinced\\ntheir distrust, and had done enough to insure", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0429.jp2"}, "430": {"fulltext": "416 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhis hostility according, therefore, to the usual\\nmode of reasoning in these cases, his destruc-\\ntion had become necessary to their security.\\nSausaman, the treacherous informer, was\\nshortly afterwards found dead in a pond, hav-\\ning fallen a victim to the vengeance of his\\ntribe. Three Indians, one of whom was a\\nfriend and counselor of Philip, were appre-\\nhended and tried, and on the testimony of one\\nvery questionable witness were condemned and\\nexecuted as murderers.\\nThis treatment of his subjects and igno-\\nminious punishment of his friend outraged the\\npride and exasperated the passion of Philip.\\nThe bolt which had fallen thus at his very feet\\n^wakened him to the gathering storm, and he\\ndetermined to trust himself no longer in the\\npower of the white men. The fate of his\\ninsulted and broken-hearted brother still rank-\\nled in his mind; and he had a further warning\\nin the tragical story of Miantonimo, a great\\nSachem of the Narragansetts, who, after man-\\nfully facing his accusers before a tribunal of\\nthe colonists, exculpating himself from a\\ncharge of conspiracy and receiving assurances\\nof amity, had been perfidiously despatched at\\ntheitf- insti.53:ation. Philip therefore gathered\\nhis fighting-men about him, persuaded all\\nstrangers that he could to join his cause, sent\\nthe women and children to the Narragansetts\\nfor safety, and wherever he appeared was con-\\ntinually surrounded by armed warriors.\\nWhen the two parties were thus in a state of\\ndistrust and irritation, the least spark was", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0430.jp2"}, "431": {"fulltext": "TH\u00c2\u00a3 sketch book. 417\\nsufficient to set them in a flame. The Indians,\\nhaving weapons in their hands, grew mischiev-\\nous and committed various petty depredations.\\nIn one of their maraudings a warrior was fired\\non and killed by a sfettler. This was the sig-\\nnal for open hostilities; the Indians pressed to\\nrevenge the death of their comrade, and the\\nalarm of war resounded through the Plymouth\\ncolony.\\nIn the early chronicles of these dark and\\nmelancholy times we meet with many indica-\\ntions of the diseased state of the public mind.\\nThe gloom of religious abstraction and the\\nwildness of their situation among trackless for-\\nests and savage tribes had disposed the colon-\\nists to superstitious fancies, and had filled their\\nimaginations with the frightful chimeras of\\nwitchcraft and spectrology. They were much\\ngiven also to a belief in omens. The troubles\\nwith Philip and his Indians were preceded, we\\nare told, by a variety of those awful warnings\\nwhich forerun great and public calamities.\\nThe perfect form of an Indian bow appeared\\nin the air at New Plymouth, which was looked\\nupon by the inhabitants as a prodigious appa-\\nrition. At Hadley, Northampton, and other\\ntowns in their neighborhood, was heard the\\nreport of a great piece of ordnance, with a\\nshaking of the earth and a considerable echo.\\nOthers were alarmed on a still sunshiny morn-\\ning by the discharge of guns and muskets;\\nbullets seemed to whistle past them, and the\\n*The Rev. Increase Mather s History.\\n27 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0431.jp2"}, "432": {"fulltext": "418 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nnoise of drums resounded in the air, seemingf\\nto pass away to the westward others fancied\\nthat they heard the galloping of horses over\\ntheir heads; and certain monstrous births\\nwhich took place about the time filled the\\nsuperstitious in some towns with doleful fore-\\nbodings. Many of these portentous sights and\\nsounds may be ascribed to natural phenomena\\nto the northern lights which occur vividly in\\nthose latitudes, the meteors which explode in\\nthe air, the casual rushing of a blast through\\nthe tpp branches of the forest, the crash of\\nfallen trees or disrupted rocks, and to those\\nother uncouth sounds and echoes which will\\nsometimes strike the ear so strangely amidst\\nthe profound stillness of woodland solitudes.\\nThese may have startled some melancholy im-\\naginations, may have been exaggerated by the\\nlove for the marvelous, and listened to with that\\navidity with which we devour whatever is fear-\\nful and mysterious. The universal currency of\\nthese superstitious fancies and the grave rec-\\nord made of them by one of the learned men of\\nthe day are strongly characteristic of the\\ntimes.\\nThe nature of the contest that ensued was\\nsuch as too often distinguishes the warfare be-\\ntween civilized men and savages. On the part\\nof the whites it was conducted with superior\\nskill and success, but with a wastefulness of\\nthe blood and a disregard of the natural rights\\nof their antagonists; on the part of the Indi-\\nans it was waged with the desperation of men\\nfearless of death, and who had nothing to ex-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0432.jp2"}, "433": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 419\\npect from peace but humiliation, dependence,\\nand decay.\\nThe events of the war are transmitted to ,us\\nby a worthy clergyman of the time, \\\\yho dwells\\nwith horror and indignation on every hostile\\nact of the Indians, however justifiable, whilst\\nhe mentions with applause the most sanguinary\\natrocities of the whites. Philip is reviled as a\\nmurderer and a traitor, without considering\\nthat he was a true-born prince gallantly fight-\\ning at the head of his subjects to avenge the\\nwrongs of his family, to retrieve the tottering\\npower of his line, and to deliver his native\\nland from the oppression of usurping strangers.\\nThe project of a wide and simultaneous re-\\nvolt, if such had really been formed, was wor-\\nthy of a capacious mind, and had it not been\\nprematurely discovered might have been over-\\nwhelming in its consequences. The war that\\nactually broke out was but a war of detail, a\\nmere succession of casual exploits and uncon-\\nnected enterprises. Still, it sets forth the mil-\\nitary genius and daring prowess of Philip, and\\nwherever, in the prejudiced and passionate\\nnarrations that have been given of it, we can\\narrive at simple facts, we find him displaying\\na vigorous mind, a fertility of expedients, a\\ncontempt of suffering and hardship, and an\\nuncon ^uerable resolution that command our\\nsympathy and applause.\\nr Driven from his paternal domains at Mount\\nHope, he threw himself into the depths of\\nthose vast and trackless forests that skirted\\nthe settlements and were almost impervious to", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0433.jp2"}, "434": {"fulltext": "420 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nanything but a wild beast or an Indian. Here\\nhe gathered together his forces, like the storm\\naccumulating its stores of mischief in the\\nbosom of the thunder-cloud, and would sud-\\ndenly emerge at a time and place least ex-\\npected, carrying havoc and dismay into the vil-\\nlages. There were now and then indications\\nof these impending ravages that filled the\\nminds of the colonists with awe and apprehen-\\nsion. The report of a distant gun would per-\\nhaps be heard from the solitary woodland,\\nwhere there was known to be no white man\\nthe cattle which had been wandering in the\\nwoods would sometimes return home wounded;\\nor an Indian or two would be seen lurking about\\nthe skirts of the forests and suddenly disappear-\\ning, as the lightning will sometimes be seen\\nplaying silently about the edge of the cloud\\nthat is brewing up the tempest.\\nThough sometimes pursued and even sur-\\nrounded by the settlers, yet Philip as often es-\\ncaped almost miraculously from their toils,\\nand, plunging into the wilderness, would be\\nlost to all search or inquiry until he again\\nemerged at some far distant quarter, laying\\nthe couiitry desolate. Among his strongholds\\nwere the great swamps or morasses which ex-\\ntend in some parts of New England, composed\\nof loose bogs of deep black mud, perplexed\\nwith thickets, brambles, rank weeds, the shat-\\ntered and mouldering trunks of fallen trees,\\novershadowed by lugubrious hemlocks. The\\nuncertain footing and the tangled mazes of\\nthese shaggy wilds rendered them almost im-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0434.jp2"}, "435": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 421\\npracticable to the white man, though the In-\\ndian could thread their labyrinths with the\\nagility of a deer. Into one of these, the great\\nswamp of Pocasset Neck, was Philip once\\ndriyen with a band of his followers. The\\nEnglish did not dare to pursue him, fearing to\\nventure into these dark and frightful recesses,\\nwhere they might perish in fens and miry pits\\nor be shot down by lurking foes. They, there-\\nfore, invested the entrance to the Neck, and\\nbegan to build a fort with the thought of starv-\\ning out the foe; but Philip and his warriors\\nwafted themselves on a raft over an arm of the\\nsea in the dead of night, leaving the women\\nand children behind, and escaped away to the\\nwestward, kindling the flames of war among\\nthe tribes of Massachusetts and the Nipmuck\\ncountry and threatening the colony of Con-\\nnecticut.\\nIn this way Philip became a theme of univer-\\nsal apprehension. The mystery in which he\\nwas enveloped exaggerated his real terrors.\\nHe was an evil that walked in darkness, whose\\ncoming none could foresee and against which\\nnone knew when to be on the alert. The\\nwhole country abounded with rumors and\\nalarms. Philip seemed almost possessed of\\nubiquity, for in whatever part of the widely-\\nextended frontier an irruption from the forest\\ntook place, Philip was said to be its leader.\\nMany superstitious notions also were circulated\\nconcerning him. He was said to deal in nec-\\nromancy, and to be attended by an old Indian\\nwitch or prophetess, whom he consulted and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0435.jp2"}, "436": {"fulltext": "422 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nwho assisted him by her charms and incanta-\\ntions. This, indeed, was frequently the case\\nwith Indian chiefs, either through their own\\ncredulity or to act upon that of their followers;\\nand the influence of the prophet and the\\ndreamer over Indian superstition has been\\nfully evidenced in recent instances of savage\\n/warfare.\\nAt the time that Philip effected his escape\\nfrom Pocasset his fortunes were in a desperate\\ncondition. His forces had been thinned by\\nrepeated fights and he had lost almost the\\nwhole of his resources. In this time of adver-\\nsity he found a faithful friend in Canonchet,\\nchief Sachem of all the Narragansetts. He\\nwas the son and heir of Miantonimo, the great\\nsachem who, as already mentioned, after an\\nhonorable acquittal of the charge of conspiracy,\\nhad been privately put to death at the perfidi-\\nous instigations of the settlers. He was the\\nheir, says the old chronicler, of all his\\nfather s pride and insolence, as well as of his\\nmalice towards the English; he certainly was\\nthe heir of his insults and injuries and the le-\\ngitimate avenger of his murder. Though he\\nhad forborne to take an active part in this\\nhopeless war, yet he received Philip and his\\nbroken forces with open arms and gave them\\nthe most generous countenance and support.\\nThis at once drew upon him the hostility of\\nthe English, and it was determined to strike a\\nsignal blow that should involve both the sa-\\nchems in one common ruin. A great force was,\\ntherefore, gathered together from Massachu-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0436.jp2"}, "437": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 423\\nsetts, Plymouth, and Connecticut, and was\\nsent into the Narragansett country in the depth\\nof winter, when the swamps, being frozen and\\nleafless, could be traversed with comparative\\nfacility and would no longer afford dark and\\nimpenetrable fastnesses to the Indians.\\nApprehensive of attack, Canonchet had con-\\nveyed the greater part of his stores, together\\nwith the old, the infirm, the women and chil-\\ndren of his tribe, to a strong fortress where he\\nand Philip had likewise drawn up the flower of\\ntheir forces. This fortress, deemed by the\\nIndians impregnable, was situated upon a ris-\\ning mound or kind of island of five or six acres\\nin the midst of a swamp; it was constructed\\nwith a degree of judgment and skill vastly su-\\nperior to what is usually displayed in Indian\\nfortification and indicative of the martial\\ngenius of these two chieftains.\\nGuided by a renegade Indian, the English\\npenetrated, through December snows, to this\\nstronghold and came upon the garrison by sur-\\nprise. The fight was fierce and tumultuous.\\nThe assailants were repulsed in their first at-\\ntack, and several of their bravest officers were\\nshot down in the act of storming the fortress,\\nsword in hand. The assault was renewed with\\ngreater success. A lodgment was effected.\\nThe Indians were driven from one post to an-\\nother. They disputed their ground inch by\\ninch, fighting with the fury of despair. Most\\nof their veterans were cut to pieces, and after\\na long and bloody battle, Philip and Canon-\\nchet, with a handful of surviving warriors, re-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0437.jp2"}, "438": {"fulltext": "424 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ntreated from the fort and took refuge in the\\nthickets of the surrounding forest.\\nThe victors set fire to the wigwams and the\\nfort the whole was soon in a blaze many of\\nthe old men, the women, and the children,\\nperished in the flames. This last outrage\\novercame even the stoicism of the savage.\\nThe neighboring woods resounded with the\\nyells of rage and despair uttered by the fugi-\\ntive warriors, as they beheld the destruction of\\ntheir dwellings and heard the agonizing cries\\nof their wives and offspring. The burning of\\nthe wigwams, says a contemporary writer,\\nthe shrieks and cries of the women and chil-\\ndren, and the yelling of the warriors, exhibited\\na most horrible and affecting scene, so that it\\ngreatly moved some of the soldiers. The\\nsame writer cautiously adds, They were in\\nmuch doubt then, and afterwards seriously\\ninquired, whether burning their enemies alive\\ncould be consistent with humanity, and the\\nbenevolent principles of the gospel.\\nThe fate of the brave and generous Canon^\\nchet is worthy of particular mention; the last\\nscene of his life is one of the noblest instances\\non record of Indian magnimity.\\nBroken down in his power and resources by\\nthis signal defeat, yet faithful to his ally and\\nto the hapless cause which he had espoused, he\\nrejected all overtures of peace offered on con-\\ndition of betraying Philip and his followers,\\nand declared that he would fight it out to the\\n*MS. of the Rev. W. Ruggles.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0438.jp2"}, "439": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 425\\nlast man, rather than become a servant to the\\nEnglish. His home being destroyed, his\\ncountry harassed and laid waste by the incur-\\nsions of the conquerors, he was obliged to wan-\\nder away to the banks of the Connecticut,\\nwhere he formed a rallying-point to the whole\\nbody of western Indians, and laid waste sev-\\neral of the English settlements.\\nEarly in the spring he departed on a hazard-\\nous expedition, with only thirty chosen men,\\nto penetrate to Seaconck, in the vicinity of\\nMount Hope, and to procure seed corn to plant\\nfor the sustenance of his troops. This little\\nband of adventurers had passed safely through\\nthe Pequod country, and were in the centre of\\nthe Narragansett, resting at some wigwams\\nnear Pautucket River, when an alarm was\\ngiven of an approaching enemy. Having but\\nseven men by him at the time, Canonchet de-\\nspatched two of them to the top of a neighbor-\\ning hill to bring intelligence of the foe.\\nPanic- struck by the appearance of a troop of\\nEnglish and Indians rapidly advancing, they\\nfled in breathless terror past their chieftain,\\nwithout stopping to inform him of the danger.\\nCanonchet sent another scout, who did the\\nsame. He then sent two more, one of whom,\\nhurrying back in confusion and affright, told\\nhim that the whole British army was at hand.\\nCanonchet saw there was no choice but\\nimmediate flight. He attempted to escape\\nround the hill, but was perceived and hotly\\npursued by the hostile Indians and a few of\\nthe fleetest of the English. Finding the swift-\\n28 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0439.jp2"}, "440": {"fulltext": "426 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nest purstier tlose upon his heels, he threw oi^r\\nfirst his blanket, then his silver-laced coat ati d\\nbelt of peag, by which his enemies knew him\\nto be Canonchet, and redoubled the eagerness\\nof pursuit.\\nAt length, in dashing through the river, his\\nfoot slipped upon a stone, and he fell so deep\\nas to wet his gun. This accident so struck\\nhim with despair that, as he afterwards con-\\nfessed, his heart and his bowels turned\\nwithin him, and he became like a rotten stick,\\nvoid of strength.\\nTo such a degree was he unnerved that,\\nbeing seized by a Pequod Indian within a\\nshort distance of the river, he made no resist-\\nance, though a man of great vigor of body and\\nboldness of heart. But on being made pris-\\noner the whole pride of his spirit arose within\\nhim, and from that moment we find, in the\\nanecdotes given by his enemies, nothing but\\nrepeated flashes of elevated and prince-like\\nheroism. Being questioned by one of the Eng-\\nlish who first came up with him, and who had\\nnot attained his twenty-second year, the proud-\\nhearted warrior, looking with lofty contempt\\nupon his youthful countenance, replied, You\\nare a child you cannot understand matters\\nof war; let your brother or your chief come:\\nhim will I answer.\\nThough repeated offers were made to him of\\nhis life on condition of submitting with his\\nnation to the English, yet he rejected them\\nwith disdain, and refused to send any proposals\\nof the kind to the great body of his subjects,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0440.jp2"}, "441": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 427\\nsaying that he knew none of them would com-\\nply. Being reproached with his breach of\\nfaith towards the whites, his boast that he\\nwould not deliver up a Wampanoag nor the\\nparing of a Wampanoag s nail, and his threat\\nthat he would burn the English alive in their\\nhouses, he disdained to justify himself,\\nhaughtilyanswering that otherswere as forward\\nfor the war as himself, and *he desired to hear\\nno more thereof.\\nSo noble and unshaken a spirit, so true a\\nfidelity to his cause and his friends, might\\nhave touched the feelings of the generous and\\nthe brave; but Canonchet was an Indian, a\\nbeing towards whom war had no courtesy,\\nhumanity no law, religion no compassion he\\nwas conxlemned to die. The Isat words of his\\nthat are recorded are worthy the greatness of\\nhis soul. When sentence of death was passed\\nupon him, he observed that he liked it well,\\nfor he should die before his heart was soft or\\nhe had spoken anything unworthy of himself.\\nHis enemies gave him the death of a soldier,\\nfor he was shot at Stoningham by three young\\nSachems of his own rank.\\nThe defeat at the Narraganset fortress and\\nthe death of Canonchet were fatal blows to the\\nfortunes of King Philip. He made an ineffec-\\ntual attempt to raise a head of war b}^ stirring\\nup the Mohawks to take arms; but, though\\npossessed of the native talents of a statesman,\\nhis arts were counteracted by the superior arts\\nof his enlightened enemies, and the terror of\\ntheir warlike skill began to subdue the resolu-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0441.jp2"}, "442": {"fulltext": "428 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ntion of the neighboring tribes. The unfortu-\\nnate chieftain saw himself daily stripped of\\npower, and his ranks rapidly thinning around\\nhim. Some were suborned by the whites;\\nothers fell victims to hunger and fatigue and\\nto the frequent attacks by which they were\\nharassed. His stores were all captured; his\\nchosen friends were swept away from before\\nhis e3^es his uncle was shot down by his side\\nhis sister was carried into captivity; and in one\\nof his narrow escapes he was compelled to\\nleave his beloved wife and only son to the\\nmercy of the enemy. His ruin, says the\\nhistorian, being thus gradually carried on, his\\nmisery was not prevented, but augmented\\nthereby; being himself made acquainted with\\nthe sense and experimental feeling of the cap-\\ntivity of his children, loss of friends, slaughter\\nof his subjects, bereavement of all family rela-\\ntions, and being stripped of all outward com-\\nforts before his own life should be taken\\naway.\\nTo fill up the measure of his misfortunes,\\nhis own followers began to plot against his life,\\nthat by sacrificing him they might purchase\\ndishonorable safety. Through treachery a num-\\nber of his faithful adherents, the subjects of\\nWetamoe, an Indian princess of Pocasset, a\\nnear kinswoman and confederate of Philip\\nwere betrayed into the hands of the enemy.\\nWetamoe was among them at the time, and\\nattempted to make her escape by crossing a\\nneighboring river: either exhausted by swim-\\nming or starved with cold and hunger, she was", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0442.jp2"}, "443": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 429\\nfound dead and naked near the water-side.\\nBut persecution ceased not at the grave.\\nEven death, the refuge of the wretched, where\\nthe wicked commonly cease from troubling,\\nwas no protection to this outcast female, whose\\ngreat crime was affectionate fidelity to her\\nkinsman and her friend. Her corpse was th^e\\nobject of unmanly and dastardly vengeance\\nthe hea.d was severed from the body and set\\nupon a pole, and was thus exposed at Taunton\\nto the view of her captive subjects. They\\nimmediately recognized the features of their\\nunfortunate queen, and were so affected at this\\nbarbarous spectacle that we are told they\\nbroke forth into the most horrid and diaboli-\\ncal lamentations.\\n-However Philip had borne up against the\\ncomplicated miseries and misfortunes that sur-\\nrounded him, the treachery of his followers\\nseemed to wring his heart and reduce him to^\\ndespondency. It is said that he never rejoiced\\nafterwards, nor had success in any of his de-\\nsigns. The spring of hope was broken the\\nardor of enterprise was extinguished he looked\\naround, and all was danger and darkness there\\nwas no eye to pity nor any arm that could bring\\ndeliverance. With a scanty band of followers,\\nwho still remained true to his desperate for^\\ntunes, the unhappy Philip wandered back to\\nthe vicinity of Mount Hope, the ancient dwell-\\ning of his fathers. Here he lurked about like\\na spectre among the scenes of former power\\nand prosperity, now bereft of home, of fam-\\nily, and of friends. There needs no better pic-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0443.jp2"}, "444": {"fulltext": "430 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nture of his destitute and piteous situation than\\nthat furnished by the homely pen of the\\nchronicler, who is unwarily enlisting the feel-\\nings of the reader in favor of the hapless war-\\nrior whom he reviles. Philip, he says,\\nlike a savage wild beast, having been hunted\\nby the English forces through the woods\\nabove a hundred miles backward and forward,\\nat last was driven to his own den upon Mount\\nHope, where he retired with a few of his best\\nfriends, into a swamp, which proved but a\\nprison to keep him fast till the messengers of\\ndeath came by divine permission to execute\\nvengeance upon him.\\nEven in this last refuge of desperation and\\ndespair a sullen grandeur gathers round his\\nmemory. We picture him to ourselves\\nseated among his care-worn followers, brood-\\ning in silence over his blasted fortunes, and\\nacquiring a savage sublimity from the wild-\\nness and dreariness of his lurking-place. De-\\nfeated, but not dismayed crushed to the\\nearth, but not humiliated he seemed to grow\\nmore haughty beneath disaster, and to experi-\\nence a fierce satisfaction in draining the last\\ndregs of bitterness. Little minds are tamed\\nand subdued by misfortunes, but great minds\\nrise above it. The very idea of submission\\nawakened the fury of Philip, and he smote to\\ndeath one of his followers who proposed an\\nexpedient of peace. The brother of the vic-\\ntim made his escape, and in revenge betrayed\\nthe retreat of his chieftain. A body of white\\nmen and Indians were immediately despatched", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0444.jp2"}, "445": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 431\\nto the swamp where Philip lay crouched, glar-\\ning with fury and despair. Before he was\\naware of their approach they had begun to sur-\\nround him. In a little while he saw five of his\\ntrustiest followers laid dead at his feet; all\\nresistance was vain he rushed forth from his\\ncovert, and made a headlong attempt toes-\\ncape, but yas shot through the heart by arene-\\ngado Indian of his own nation.\\nSuch is the scanty story of the brave but un-\\nfortunate King Philip, persecuted while living,\\nslandered and dishonored when dead. If,\\nhowever, we consider even the prejudiced\\nanecdotes furnished us by his enemies, we may\\nperceive in them traces of amiable and lofty\\ncharacter sufficient to awaken sympathy for his\\nfate and respect for his memory. We find\\nthat amidst all the harassing cares and fero-\\ncious passions of constant warfare he was alive\\nto the softer feelings of connubial love and\\npaternal tenderness and to the generous senti-\\nment of friendship. The captivity of his\\nbeloved wife and only son are mentioned\\nwith exultation as causing him poignant mis-\\nery: the death of any new friend is triumph-\\nantly recorded as a new blow on his sensibil-\\nities but the treachery and desertion of many\\nof his followers, in whose affections he had\\nconfided, is said to have desolated his heart\\nand to have bereaved him of all further comfort.\\nHe was a patriot attached to his native soil a\\nprince true to his subjects and indignant of\\ntheir wrongs a soldier daring in battle, firm\\nin adversity, patient of fatigue, of hunger, of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0445.jp2"}, "446": {"fulltext": "432 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nevery variety of bodily suffering, and ready to\\nperish in the cause he had espoused. Proud\\nof heart and with an untamable love of natu-\\nral liberty, he preferred to enjoy it among the\\nbeasts of the forests or in the dismal and fam-\\nished recesses of swamps and morasses, rather\\nthan bow his haughty spirit to submission and\\nlive dependent and despised in the ease and\\nluxury of the settlements. With heroic quali-\\nties and bold achievements that would have\\ngraced a civilized warrior, and have rendered\\nhim the theme of the poet and the historian,\\nhe lived a wanderer and a fugitive in his\\nnative land, and went down, like a lonely bark\\nfoundering amid darkness and tempest, with-\\nout a pitying eye to weep his fall or a friendly\\nhand to record his struggle.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0446.jp2"}, "447": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 433\\nJOHN BULL.\\nAn old song, made by an aged old pate,\\nOf an old worshipful gentleman who had a great estate.\\nThat kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,\\nAnd an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate.\\nWith an old study fill d full of learned old books,\\nWith an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by\\nhis looks.\\nWith an old buttery-hatch worn quite off the hooks.\\nAnd an old kitchen that maintained half-ardozen old\\ncooks.\\nLike an old courtier, etc. Old Song.\\nThere is no species of humor in which the\\nEnglish more excel than that which consists\\nin caricaturing and giving ludicrous appella-\\ntions or nick-names. In this way they have\\nwhimsically designated, not merely individu-\\nals, but nations, and in their fondness for push-\\ning a joke they have not spared even them-\\nselves. One would think that in personifying-\\nitself a nation would be apt to picture some-\\nthing grand, heroic, and imposing; but it is\\ncharacteristic of the peculiar humor of the\\nEnglish, and of their love for what is blunt,\\ncomic, and familiar, that they have embodied\\ntheir national oddities in the figure of a\\nsturdy, corpulent old fellow with a three-cor-\\nnered hat, red waistcoat, leather breeches, and.\\nstout oaken cudgel. Thus they have taken a", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0447.jp2"}, "448": {"fulltext": "434 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nsingular delight in exhibiting their most pri-\\nvate foibles in a laughable point of view, and\\nhave been so successful in their delineations\\nthat there is scarcely a being in actual exist-\\nence more absolutely present to the public\\nmind than that eccentric personag.e, John Bull.\\nPerhaps the continual contemplation of the\\ncharacter thus drawn of them has contributed\\nto fix it upon the nation, and thus to give\\nreality to what at first may have been painted\\nin a great measure from the imagination.\\nMen are apt to acquire peculiarities that are\\ncontinually ascribed to them. The common\\norders of English seem wonderfully captivated\\nwith the beau ideal which they have formed of\\nJohn Bull, and endeavor to act up to the\\nbroad caricature that is perpetually before\\ntheir eyes. Unluckily, they sometimes make\\ntheir boasted Bullism an apology for their\\nprejudice or grossness; and this I have espe-\\ncially noticed among those truly homebred and\\ngenuine sons of the soil who have never\\nmigrated beyond the sound of Bow bells. If\\none of these should be a little uncouth in\\nspeech and apt to utter impertinent truths, he\\nconfesses that he is a real John Bull and\\nalways speaks his mind. If he now and then\\nflies into an unreasonable burst of passion\\nabout trifles, he observes that John Bull is a\\ncholeric old blade, but then his passion is over\\nin a moment and he bears no m.alice. If he\\nbetrays a coarseness of taste and an insensibil-\\nity to foreign refinements, he thanks Heaven\\nfor his ignorance he is a plain John Bull and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0448.jp2"}, "449": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 435\\nhas no relish for frippery and knick-knacks.\\nHis very proneness to be gulled by strangers\\nand to pay extravagantly for absurdities is ex-\\ncused under the plea of munificence, for John\\nis always more generous than wise.\\nThus, under the name of John Bull he will\\ncontrive to argue every fault into a merit, and\\nwill frankly convict himself of being the\\nhonestest fellow in existence.\\nHowever little, therefore, the character\\nmay have suited in the first instance, it lias\\ngradually adapted itself to the nation, or\\nrather they have adapted themselves to each\\nother; and a stranger who wishes to study\\nEnglish peculiarities may gather much valu-\\nable information from the innumerable por-\\ntraits of John Bull as exhibited in the windows\\nof the caricature-shops. Still, however, he is\\none of those fertile humorists that are continu-\\nally throwing out new portraits and presenting\\ndifferent aspects from different points of\\nviievv and, often as he has been described, I\\n.pannot resist the temptation to give a slight\\nsketch of him such as he has met my eye.\\nJohn Bull, to all appearance, is a plain,\\ndownright, matter-of-fact fellow, with much\\nless of poetry about him than rich prose.\\nThere is little of romance in his nature, but a\\nvast deal of strong natural feeling. He excels\\nin humor more than in wit; is jolly rather\\nthan ga}^; melancholy rather than morose can\\neasily be moved to a sudden tear or surprised\\ninto a broad laugh but he loathes sentiment\\nand has no turn for light pleasantry. He is a", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0449.jp2"}, "450": {"fulltext": "436 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nboon companion, if you allow him to have his\\nhumor and to talk about himself; and he will\\nstand by a friend in a quarrel with life and\\npurse, however soundly he may be cudgelled.\\nIn this last respect, to tell the truth, he has\\na propensity to be somewhat too ready. He\\nis a busy-minded personage, who thinks not\\nmerely for himself and family, but for all the\\ncountry round, and is most generously dis-\\nposed to be everybody s champion. He is con-\\ntinually volunteering his services to settle his\\nneighbor s affairs, and takes it in great dudgeon\\nif they engage in any matter of consequence\\nwithout asking his advice, though he seldom\\nengages in any friendly office of the kind with-\\nout finishing by getting into a squabble with\\nall parties, and then railing bitterly at their\\ningratitude. He unluckily took lessons in his\\nyouth in the noble science of defence, and hav-\\ning accomplished himself in the use of his\\nlimbs and his weapons and become a perfect\\nmaster at boxing and cudgel-play, he has had a\\ntroublesome life of it ever since. He cannot\\nhear of a quarrel between the most distant of\\nhis neighbors but he begins incontinently to\\nfumble with the head of his cudgel, and con-\\nsider whether his interest or honor does not\\nrequire that he should meddle in the broil.\\nIndeed, he has extended his relations of pride\\nand policy so completely over the whole\\ncountry that no event can take place without\\ninfringing some of his finely-spun rights and\\ndignities. Couched in his little domain, with\\nthese filaments stretching forth in every direc-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0450.jp2"}, "451": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 437\\ntion, he is like some choleric, bottle-bellied old\\nspider who has woven his web over a whole\\nchamber, so that a fly cannot buzz nor a breeze\\nblow without startling his repose and causing\\nhim to sally forth wrathfully from his den.\\nThough really a good-hearted, good-tem-\\npered old fellow at bottom, yet he is singularly\\nfond of being in the midst of contention. It\\nis one of his peculiarities, however, that he\\nonly relishes the beginning of an affray; he\\nalways goes into a fight with alacrity, but\\ncomes out of it grumbling even when victori-\\nous;, and though no one fights with more ob-\\nstinacy to carry a contested point, yet when\\nthe battle is over and he comes to the recon-\\nciliation he is so much taken up with the mere\\nshaking of hands that he is apt to let his\\nantagonist pocket all that they have been\\nquarreling about. It is not, therefore, fight-\\ning that he ought so much to be on his guard\\nagainst as making friends. It is dififtcult to,\\ncudgel him out of a farthing; but put him in\\na good humor and you may bargain him out\\nof all the money in his pocket. He is like a\\nstout ship which will weather the roughest\\nstorm uninjured, but roll its masts overboard\\nin the succeeding calm.\\nHe is a little fond of playing the magnifieo\\nabroad, of pulling out a long purse, flinging\\nhis money bravely about at boxing-matches,\\nhorse-races, cock-fights, and carrying a high\\nhead among gentlemen of the fancy: but\\nimmediately ^after one of these fits of extrava-\\ngance he will be taken with violent qualms of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0451.jp2"}, "452": {"fulltext": "438 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\neconomy; stop short at the most trivial ex-\\npenditure; talk desperately of being ruined\\nand brought upon the parish; and in such\\nmoods will not pay the smallest tradesman s\\nbill without violent altercation. He is, in\\nfact, the most punctual and discontented pay-\\nmaster in the world, drawing his coin out of\\nhis breeches pocket with infinite reluctance,\\npaying to the uttermost farthing, but accom-\\npanying every guinea with a growl.\\nWith all his talk of economy, however, he is\\na bountiful provider and a hospitable house-\\nkeeper. His economy is of a whimsical kind,\\nits chief object being to devise how he may\\nafford to be extravagant for he will begrudge\\nhimself a beefsteak and pint of port one day\\nthat he may roast an ox whole, broach a hogs-\\nhead of ale, and treat all his neighbors on the\\nnext.\\nHis domestic establishment is enormously\\nexpensive, not so much from an}^ great outv/ard\\nparade as from the great consumption of solid\\nbeef and pudding, the vast number of follow-\\ners he feeds and clothes, and his singular dis-\\nposition to pay hugely for small services. He\\nis a most kind and indulgent master, and, pro-\\nvided his servants humor his peculiarities,\\nflatter his vanity a little now and then, and do\\nnot peculate grossly on him before his face\\nthey may manage him to perfection. Every-\\nthing that lives on him seems to thrive and\\ngrow fat. His house-servants are well paid\\nand pampered and have little to do. His\\nhorses are sleek and lazy and prance slowly", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0452.jp2"}, "453": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 439\\nbefore his state carriage and his house-dogs\\nsleep quietly about the door and will hardly\\nbark at a housebreaker.\\nHis family mansion is an old castellated\\nmanor-house, gray with age, and of a most\\nvenerable though weather-beaten appearance.\\nIt has been built upon no regular plan, but it\\na vast accumulation of parts erected in various\\ntastes and ages. The centre bears evident\\ntraces of Saxon architecture, and is as solid as\\nponderous stone and old English oak can make\\nit. Like all the relics of that style, it is full of\\nobscure passages, intricate mazes, and dusty\\nchambers, and^ though these have been par-\\ntially lighted up in modern days, yet there are\\nmany places where you must still grope in the\\ndark Additions have been made to the orig-\\ninal edifice from time to time, and great alter-\\nations have taken place; towers and battle-\\nments have been erected during wars and\\ntumults wings built in time of peace and out-\\nhouses, lodges, and offices run up according to\\nthe whim or convenience of different genera-\\ntions, until it has become one of the most spa-\\ncious, rambling tenements imaginable. An\\nentire wing is taken up with the family chapel,\\na reverend pile that must have been exceed-\\ningly sumptuous, and, indeed, in spite of hav-\\ning been altered and simplified at various\\nperiods, has still a look of solemn religious\\npomp. Its walls within are storied with the\\nmonuments of John s ancestors, and it is snugly\\nfitted up with soft cushions and well-lined\\nchairs, where such of his family as are inclined", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0453.jp2"}, "454": {"fulltext": "440 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nto church services may doze comfortably in the--\\ndischarge of their duties.\\nTo keep up this chapel has cost John muck;\\nmoney but he is staunch in his religion and\\npiqued in his zeal, from the circumstance that\\nmany dissenting chapels have been erected in\\nhis vicinity, and several of his neighbors, with;\\nwhom he has had quarrels, are strong papists..\\nTo do the duties of the chapel he maintains,\\nat a large expense, a pious and portly family\\nchaplain. He is a most learned and decorous.;\\npersonage and a truly well-bredc.Christian, who,\\nalways backs the old gentleman in his opin-/!\\nions, winks discreetly at his little peccadilloes/\\nrebukes the children when refractory, and fs:\\nof great use in exhorting the tenants to readri\\ntheir Bibles, say their prayers, and, above all^b\\nto pay their rents punctually and withoutri\\ngrumbling. Hs\\nThe family apartments are in a very antiTfi\\nquated taste, somewhat heavy and often inconrri\\nvenient, but full of the solemn magnificence ofd\\nformer times, fitted up with rich though faded;\\ntapestry, unwieldly furniture, and loads of\\nmassy, gorgeous old plate. The vast fireplaces,\\nample kitchens, extensive cellar^, and sumptu-\\nous banqueting-halls all speak of the roaring\\nhospitality of days of yore, of which the mod-\\nern festivity at the manor-house is but a^\\nshadow. There are, however, complete suites--\\nof rooms apparently deserted and time-worn,\\nand towers and turrets that are tottering to\\ndecay, so that in high winds there is danger of\\ntheir tumbling about the ears of the household.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0454.jp2"}, "455": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 441\\nJohn has frequently been advised to have\\nthe old edifice thoroughly overhauled, and to\\nhave some of the useless parts pulled down,\\nand the others strengthened with their mate-\\nrials but the old gentleman always grows testy\\non this subject. He swears the house is an\\nexcellent house that it is tight and weather-\\nproof, and not to be shaken by tempests; that\\nit has stood for several hundred years, and\\ntherefore is not likely to tumble down now\\nthat as to its being inconvenient, his family is\\naccustomed to the inconveniences and would\\nnot be comfortable without them that as to\\nits unwieldly size and irregular construction,\\nthese result from its being the growth of cen-\\nturies and being improved by the wisdom of\\nevery generation that an old family, like his,\\n.requires a large house to dwell in new, upstart\\nfamilies may live in modern cottages and snug\\nboxes; but an old English family should inhabit\\nan old English manor-house. If you point out\\nany part of the building as superfluous, he\\ninsists that it is material to the strength or\\ndecoration of the rest and the harmony of the\\nwhole, and swears that the parts are so built\\ninto each other that if you pull down one, you\\nrun the risk of having the whole about your\\nears.\\nThe secret of the matter is, that John has a\\ngreat disposition to protect and patronize. He\\nthinks it indispensable to the dignity of an\\nancient and honorable family to be bounteous\\nin its appointments and to be eaten up by\\ndependents; and so, partly from pride and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0455.jp2"}, "456": {"fulltext": "442 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\npartly from kind-heartedness, he makes it a\\nrule always to give shelter and maintenance to\\nhis superannuated servants.\\nThe consequence is, that, like many other\\nvenerable family establishments, his manor is\\nincumbered by old retainers whom he cannot\\nturn off, and an old style which he cannot lay\\ndown. His mansion is like a great hospital of\\ninvalids, and, with all its magnitude, is not a\\nwhit too large for its inhabitants. Not a nook\\nor corner but is of use in housing some useless\\npersonage. Groups of veteran beef-eaters,\\ngouty pensioners, and retired heroes of the\\nbuttery and the larder are seen lolling about its\\nwalls, crawling over its lawms, dozing under\\nits trees, or sunning themselves upon the\\nbenches at its doors. Every office and out^\\nhouse is garrisoned by these supernumeraries\\nand their families for they are amazingly pro-\\nlific, and when they die off are sure to leave\\nJohn a legacy of hungry mouths to be provided\\nfor. A mattock cannot be struck against the\\nmost mouldering tumble-down tower but out\\npops, from some cranny or loop-hole, the gray-\\npate of some superannuated hanger-on, whd\\nhas lived at John s expense all his life, and\\nmakes the most grievous outcry at their pull-\\ning down the roof from over the head of a\\nworn-out servant of the family. This is an\\nappeal that John s honest heart never can\\nwithstand; so that a man who has faithfully\\neaten his beef and pudding all his life is sure\\nto be rewarded with a pipe and tankard in his\\nold days.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0456.jp2"}, "457": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 443\\nA great part of his park also is turned into\\npaddocks, where his broken-down chargers are\\nturned loose to graze undisturbed for the\\nremainder of their existence a worthy\\nexample of grateful recollection which, if\\nsome of his neighbors were to imitate, would\\nnot be to their discredit. Indeed, it is one of\\nhis great pleasures to point out these old\\nsteeds to his visitors, to dwell on their good\\nqualities, extol their past services, and boast,\\nwith some little vain-glory, of the perilous\\nadventures and hardy exploits through which\\nthey have carried him. i^\\nHe is given, however, to indulge his venera-\\ntion for family usages and family incumbrances\\nto a whimsical extent. His manor is infested\\nby gangs of gypsies yet he will not suffer them\\nto be driven off, because they have infested\\nthe place time out of mind and been regular\\npoachers upon every generation of the family.\\nHe will scarcely permit a dry branch to be\\nlopped from the great trees that surround the\\nhouse, lest it should molest the rooks that have\\nbred there for centuries. Owls have taken\\npossession of the dovecote, but they are hered-\\nitary owls and must not be disturbed. Swal-\\nlows have nearly choked up every chimney\\nwith their nests; martins build in every frieze\\nand cornice; crows flutter about the towers\\nand perch on every weather-cock and old gray-\\nheaded rats may be seen in every quarter of\\nthe house, running in and out of their holes\\nundauntedly in broad daylight. In short,\\nJohn has such a reverence for everything that", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0457.jp2"}, "458": {"fulltext": "444 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhas been long in the family that he will not\\nhear even of abuses being reformed, because\\nthey are good old family abuses.\\nAll these whims and habits have concurred\\nwoefully to drain the old gentleman s purse;\\nand as he prides himself on punctuality in\\nmoney matters and wishes to maintain his\\ncredit in the neighborhood, they have caused\\nhim great perplexity in meeting his engage-\\nments. This, too, has been increased by the\\naltercations and heart-burnings which are\\ncontinually taking place in his family. His\\nchildren have been brought up to different\\ncallings and are of different ways of thinking;\\nand as they have always been allowed to speak\\ntheir minds freely, they do not fail to exercise\\nthe privilege most clamorously in the present\\nposture of his affairs. Some stand up for the\\nhonor of the race, and are clear that the old\\nestablishment should be kept up in all its state,\\nwhatever may be the cost; others, who are\\nmore prudent and considerate, entreat the old\\ngentleman to retrench his expenses and to put\\nhis whole system of housekeeping on a more\\nmoderate footing. He has, indeed, at times,\\nseemed inclined to listen to their opinions, but\\ntheir wholesome advice has been completely\\ndefeated by the obstreperous conduct of one of\\nhis sons. This is a noisy, rattle-pated fellow,\\nof rather low habits, who neglects his busi-\\nness to frequent ale-houses is the orator of\\nvillage clubs and a complete oracle among the\\npoorest of his father s tenants. No sooner\\ndoes he hear any of his brothers mention", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0458.jp2"}, "459": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 445\\nreform or retrenchment than up he jumps,\\ntakes the words out of their mouths, and roars\\nout for an overturn. When his tongue is once\\ngoing nothing can stop it. He rants about the\\nroom hectors the old man about his spend-\\nthrift practices; ridicules his tastes and pur-\\nsuits insists that he shall turn the old serv-\\nants out of doors, give the broken-down horses\\nto the hounds, send the fat chaplain packing,\\nand take a field-preacher in his place; nay,\\nthat the whole family mansion shall be leveled\\nwith the ground, and a plain one of brick and\\nmortar built in its place. He rails at every\\nsocial entertainment and family festivity, and\\nskulks away growling to the ale-house when-\\never an equipage drives up to the door.\\nThough constantly coniplaining of the empti-\\nness of his purse, yet h6 scruples not to spend\\nall his pocket-money in these tavern convoca-\\ntions, and even runs up scores for the liquor\\nover which he preaches about his father s\\nextravagance.\\nIt may readily be imagined how little such\\nthwarting agrees with the old cavalier s fiery\\ntemperament. He has become so irritable from\\nrepeated crossings that the mere mention of\\nretrenchment or reform is a signal for a brawl\\nbetween him and the tavern oracle. As the\\nlatter is too sturdy and refractory for paternal\\ndiscipline, having grown out of all fear of the\\ncudgel, they have frequent scenes of wordy\\nwarfare, which at times runs so high that John\\nis fain to call in the aid of his son Tom, an\\nofficer who has served abroad, but is at present", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0459.jp2"}, "460": {"fulltext": "446 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nliving at home on half-pay. This last is sure\\nto stand by the old gentleman, right or wrong,\\nlikes nothing so much as a racketing, roistering\\nlife, and is ready at a wink or nod to out-sabre\\nand flourish it over the orator s head if he\\ndares to array himself against parental au-\\nthority.\\nThese family dissensions, as usual, have got\\nabroad, and are rare food for scandal in John s\\nneighborhood. People begin to look wise and\\nshake their heads whenever his affairs are\\nmentioned. They all hope that matters are\\nnot so bad with him as represented but wheij.\\na man s own children begin to rail at his extrav-\\nagance, things must be badly managed. They\\nunderstand he is mortgaged over head ^nd\\nears and is continually dabbling with money-\\nlenders. He is certainly an open-handed old\\ngentleman, but they fear he has lived too fast;\\nindeed, they never knew any good come of this\\nfondness for hunting, racing, reveling, and\\nprize-fighting. In short, Mr. Bull s estate is\\na very fine one and has been in the family a\\nlong while, but, for all that, they have known\\nmany finer estates come to the hammer.\\nWhat is worst of all, is the effect which these\\npecuniary embarrassments and domestic feuds\\nhave had on the poor man himself. Instead of\\nthat jolly round corporation and smug rosy face\\nwhich he used to present, he has of late become\\nas shriveled and shrunk as a frost-bitten apple.\\nHis scarlet gold-laced waistcoat, which bellied\\nout so bravely in those prosperous days when\\nhe sailed before the wind, now hangs loosely", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0460.jp2"}, "461": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 447\\nabout him like a mainsail in a calm. His\\nleather breecties are all in folds and wrinkles,\\nand apparently have much ado to hold up the\\nboots that yawn on both sides of his once sturdy\\nlegs.\\nInstead of strutting about as formerly with\\nhis three-cornered hat on one side, flourishing\\nhis cudgel, and bringing it down every moment\\nwith a heart}^ thump upon the ground, looking\\nevery one stul*dily in the face, and trolling out\\na stave of a catch or a drinking-song, he now\\n-goes about whistling thoughtfully to himself,\\nwith his head drooping down, his cudgel tucked\\nunder his arm, and his hands thrust to the\\nbottom of his breeches pockets, which are evi-\\ndently empty.\\nSuch is the plight of honest John Bull at\\npresent, yet for all this the old fellow s spirit\\nis as tall and as gallant as ever. If you drop\\nthe least expression of sympathy or concern,\\nhe takes fire in an instant; swears that he is\\nthe richest and stoutest fellow in the country\\ntalks of laying out large sums to adorn his\\nhouse or buy another estate and with a valiant\\nswagger and grasping of his cudgel longs\\nexceedingly to have another bout at quarter-\\nstaff.\\nThough there may be something rather\\nwhimsical in all this, yet I confess I cannot\\nlook upon John s situation without strong feel-\\nings of interest. With all his odd humors and\\nobstinate prejudices he is a sterling-hearted old\\nblade. He may not be so wonderfully fine a\\nfellow as he thinks himself, but he is at least", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0461.jp2"}, "462": {"fulltext": "448 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ntwice as good as his neighbors represent him.\\nHis virtues are all his own all plain, home-\\nbred, and unaffected. His very faults smack\\nof the raciness of his good qualities. His\\nextravagance savors of his generosity, his quar-\\nrelsomeness of his courage, his credulity of his\\nopen faith, his vanity of his pride, and his\\nbluntness of his sincerity. They are all the\\nredundancies of a rich and liberal character. He\\nis like his own oak, rough without, but sound\\nand solid within; whose bark abounds with\\nexcrescences in proportion to the growth and\\ngrandeur of the timber; and whose branches\\nmake a fearful groaning and murmuring in the\\nleast storm from their very magnitude and lux-\\nuriance. There is something, too, in the\\nappearance of his old family mansion that is\\nextremely poetical and picturesque; and as\\nlong as it can be rendered comfortably habit-\\nable I should almost tremble to see it meddled\\nwith during the present conflict of tastes and\\nopinions. Some of his advisers are no doubt\\ngood architects that might be of service but\\nmany, I fear, are mere levelers, who, when\\nthey had once got to work with their mattocks\\non this venerable edifice, would never stop\\nuntil they had brought it to the ground, and\\nperhaps buried themselves among the ruins.\\nAll that I wish is, that John s present troubles\\nmay teach him more prudence in future that\\nhe may cease to distress his mind about other\\npeople s affairs; that he may give up the fruit-\\nless attempt to promote the good of his neigh-\\nbors and the peace and happiness of the worldy", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0462.jp2"}, "463": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 449\\nby dint of the cudgel; that he may remain\\nquietly at home; gradually get his house into\\nrepair; cultivate his rich estate according to\\nhis fancy; husband his income if he thinks\\nproper bring his unruly children into order\\nif he can; renew the jovial scenes of ancient\\nprosperity; and long enjoy on his paternal\\nlands a green, an honorable, and a merry old\\nage.\\n29 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0463.jp2"}, "464": {"fulltext": "450 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nTHE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE.\\nMay no wolfe howle no screech owle stir\\nA wing about thy sepulchre\\nNo boysterous winds or stormes come hither,\\nTo starve or wither\\nThy soft sweet earth but, like a spring.\\nLove kept it ever flourishing.\\nHerrick.\\nIn the course of an excursion through one of\\nthe remote counties of England, I had struck\\ninto one of those cross-roads that lead through\\nthe more secluded parts of the country, and\\nstopped one afternoon at a village the situation\\nof which was beautifully rural and retired.\\nThere was an air of primitive simplicity about\\nits inhabitants not to be found in the villages\\nwhich lie on the great coach-roads. I deter-\\nmined to pass the night there, and, having taken\\nan early dinner, strolled out to enjoy the neigh-\\nboring scenery.\\nMy ramble, as it usually the case with travel-\\nlers, soon led me to the church, which stood at\\na little distance from the village. Indeed, it\\nwas an object of some curiosity, its old tower\\nbeing completely overrun with ivy, so that only\\nhere and there a jutting buttress, an angle of\\ngray wall, or a fantastically carved ornament\\npeered through the verdant covering. It was\\na lovely evening. The early part of the day", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0464.jp2"}, "465": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 451\\nhad been dark and showery, but in the after-\\nnoon it had cleared up, and, though sullen\\nclouds still hung overhead, yet there was a\\nbroad tract of golden sky in the west, from\\n,which the setting sun gleamed through the\\ndripping leaves and lit up all Nature into a\\nmelancholy smile. It seemed likQ the parting\\nhour of a good Christian smiling on the sins\\nand sorrows of the world, and giving, in the\\nserenity of his decline, an assurance that he\\nwill rise again in glory.\\nI had seated myself on a half-sunken tomb-\\nstone, and was musing, as one is apt to do at\\nthis sober-thoughted hour, on past scenes and\\nearly friends on those who were distant and\\nthose who were dead and indulging in that\\nkind of melancholy fancying which has in it\\nsomething sweeter even than pleasure. Every\\nnow and then the stroke of a bell from the\\nneighboring tower fell on my ear; its tones\\nwere in unison with the scene, and, instead of\\njarring, chimed in with my feelings; and it\\nwas some time before I recollected that it must\\nbe tolling the knell of some new tenant of the\\ntomb.\\nPresently I saw a funeral train moving across\\nthe village green it wound slowly along a\\nlane, was lost, and reappeared through the\\nbreaks of the hedges, until it passed the place\\nvwhere I was sitting. The pall was supported\\nX)y young girls dressed in white, and another,\\nabout the age of seventeen, walked before,\\nbearing a chaplet of white flowers a token\\nthat the deceased was a young and unmarried", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0465.jp2"}, "466": {"fulltext": "452 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfemale. The corpse was followed by the par-\\nents. They were a venerable couple of the\\nbetter order of peasantry. The father seemed\\nto repress his feelings, but his fixed eye, con-\\ntracted brow, and deeply-furrowed face showed\\nthe struggle that was passing within. His\\nwife hung on his arm, and wept aloud with\\nthe convulsive bursts of a mother s sorrow.\\nI followed the funeral into the church. The\\nbier was placed in the centre aisle, an the\\nchaplet^of white flowers, with a pair of white\\ngloves, was hung over the seat which the\\ndeceased had occupied.\\nEvery one knows the soul-subduing pathos of\\nthe funeral service, for who is so fortunate as\\nnever to have followed some one he has loved\\nto the tomb? But when performed over the\\nremains of innocence and beauty, thus laid low\\nin the bloom of existence, what can be more\\naffecting? At that simple but most solemn\\nconsignment of the body to the grave Earth\\nto earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust! the\\ntears of the youthful companions of the\\ndeceased flowed unrestrained. The father still\\nseemed to struggle with his feelings, and to\\ncomfort himself with the assurance that the\\ndead are blessed which die in the Lord; but\\nthe mother only thought of her child as a\\nflower of the field cut down and withered in the\\nmidst of its sweetness she was like Rachel,\\nmourning over her children, and would not\\nbe comforted.\\nOn returning to the inn I learnt the whole\\nstory of the deceased. It was a simple one,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0466.jp2"}, "467": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 453\\nand such as has often been told. She had been\\nthe beauty and pride of the village. Her\\nfather had once been an opulent farmer, but\\nwas reduced in circumstances. This was an\\nonly child, and brought up entirely at home\\nin the simplicity of rural life. She had been\\nthe pupil of the village pastor, the favorite\\nlamb of his little flock. The good man watched\\nover her education with paternal care it was\\nlimited and suitable to the sphere in which she\\nwas to move, for he only sought to make her\\nan ornament to her station in life, not to raise\\nher above it. The tenderness and indulgence\\nof her parents and the exemption from all\\nordinary occupations had fostered a natural\\ngrace and delicacy of character that accorded\\nwith the fragile loveliness of her form. She\\nappeared like some tender plant of the garden\\nblooming accidentally amid the hardier natives\\nof the fields.\\nThe superiority of her charms was felt and\\nacknowledged by her companions, but without\\nenvy, for it was surpassed by the unassuming\\ngentleness and winning kindness of her man-\\nners. It might be truly said of her\\nThis is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever\\nRan on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems\\nBut smacks of something greater than herself\\nToo noble for this place.\\nThe village was one of those sequestered\\nspots which still retain some vestiges of old\\nEnglish customs. It had its rural festivals\\nand holiday pastimes, and still kept up some", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0467.jp2"}, "468": {"fulltext": "454 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfaint observance of the once popular rites of\\nMay. These, indeed, had been promoted by\\nits present pastor, who was a lover of old cus-\\ntoms and one of those simple Christians that\\nthink their mission fulfilled by promoting joy\\non earth and good- will among mankind.\\nUnder his auspices the May-pole stood from\\nyear to year in the centre of the village green\\non May-day it was decorated with garlands and\\nstreamers, and a qiieen or lady of the May was\\nappointed, as in former times, to preside at the\\nsports and distribute the prizes and rewards.\\nThe picturesque situation of the village and the\\nfancifulness of its rustic fetes would often\\nattract the notice of casual visitors. Among\\nthese, on one May-day, was a young officer\\nwhose regiment had been recently quartered\\nin the neighborhood. He was charmed with\\nthe native taste that pervaded this village\\npageant, but, above all, with the dawning love-\\nliness of the queen of May. It was the village\\nfavorite who was crowned with flowers, and\\nblushing and smiling in all the beautiful con-\\nfusion of girlish diffidence and delight. The\\nartiessness of rural habits enabled him I eadily\\nto make her acquaintance he gradually won\\nhis way into her intimacy, and paid his court, to\\nher in that unthinking way in which young\\nofficers are too apt to trifle with rustic sim-\\nplicity.\\nThere was nothing in his advances to startle\\nor alarm. He never even talked of love, but\\nthere are modes of making it more eloquent\\nthan language, and which convey it subtilely", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0468.jp2"}, "469": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 455\\nand irresistibly to the heart. The beam of the\\neye, the tone of voice, the thousand tender-\\nnesses which emanate from every word and\\nlook arid action, these form the true elo-\\nquence of love, and can always be felt and\\nunderstood, but never described. Can we\\nwonder that they should readily win a heart\\nyoung, guileless, and susceptible? As to her,\\nshe loved almost unconsciously she scarcely\\ninquired what was the growing passion that\\nwas absorbing every thought and feeling, or\\nwhat were to be its consequences. She, indeed,\\nlooked not to the future. When present, his\\nlooks and words occupied her whole attention\\nwhen absent, she thought but of what had\\npassed at their recent interview. She would\\nwander with him through the green lanes and\\nrural scenes of the vicinity. He taught her\\nto see new beauties in Nature he talked in\\nthe language of polite and cultivated life, and\\nbreathed into her ear the witcheries of romance\\nand poetry.\\nPerhaps there could not have been a passion\\nbetween the sexes more pure than this inno-\\ncent girl s. The gallant figure of her youthful\\nadmirer and the splendor of his military attire\\nmight at first have charmed her eye, but it was\\nnot these that had captivated her heart. Her\\nattachment had something in it of idolatry.\\nShe looked up to him as to a being of a supe-\\nrior order. She felt in his society the enthu-\\nsiasm of a mind naturally delicate and poetical,\\nand now first awakened to a keen perception\\nof the beautiful and grand. Of the sordid", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0469.jp2"}, "470": {"fulltext": "456 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ndistinctions of rank and fortune she thought\\nnothing it was the difference of intellect, of\\ndemeanor, of manners, from those of the\\nrustic society to which she had been accus-\\ntomed, that elevated him in her opinion. She\\nwould listen to him with charmed ear and\\ndowncast look of mute delight, and her cheek\\nwould mantle with enthusiasm or if ever she\\nventured a shy glance of timid admiration, it\\nwas as quickly withdrawn, and she would sigh\\nand blush at the idea of her comparative un-\\nworthiness.\\nHer lover was equally impassioned, but his\\npassion was mingled with feelings of a coarser\\nnature. He had begun the connection in\\nlevity, for he had often heard his brother-\\nofficers boast of their village conquests, and\\nthought some triumph of the kind necessary to\\nhis reputation as a man of spirit. But he was\\ntoo full of youthful fervor. His heart had\\nnot yet been rendered sufficiently cold and\\nselfish by a wandering and a dissipated life; it\\ncaught fire from the very flame it sought to\\nkindle, and before he was aware of the nature\\nof his situation he became really in love.\\nWhat was he to do? There were the old\\nobstacles which so incessantly occur in these\\nheedless attachments. His rank in life, the\\nprejudices of titled connections, his depend-\\nence upon a proud and unyielding father, all\\nforbade him to think of matrimony but when\\nhe looked down upon tnis innocent being, so\\ntender and confiding, there was a purity in her\\nmanners, a blamelessness in her life, and a", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0470.jp2"}, "471": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 457\\nbeseeching modesty in her looks that awed\\ndown every licentious feeling In vain did he\\ntry to fortify himself by a thousand heartless\\nexamples of men of fashion, and to chill the\\nglow of generous sentiment with that cold\\nderisive levity with which he had heard them\\ntalk of female virtue whenever he came into\\nher presence she was still surrounded by that\\nmysterious but impassive charm of virgin\\npurity in whose hallowed sphere no guilty\\nthought can live.\\nThe sudden arrival of orders for the regi-\\nment to repair to the Continent completed the\\nconfusion of his mind. He remained for a\\nshort time in a state of the most painful\\nirresolution; he hesitated to communicate the\\ntidings until the day for marching was at\\nhand, when he gave her the intelligence in\\nthe course of an evening ramble.\\nThe idea of parting had never before oc-\\ncurred to her. It broke in at once upon her\\ndream of felicity; she looked upon it as a\\nsudden and insurmountable evil, and wept\\nwith the guileless simplicity of a child. He\\ndrew her to his bosom and kissed the tears\\nfrom her soft cheek nor did he meet with a\\nrepulse, for there are moments of mingled\\nsorrow and tenderness which hallow the\\ncaresses of affection. He was naturally impet-\\nuous, and the sight of beauty apparently yield-\\ning in his arms, the confidence of his power\\nover her, and the dread of losing her forever\\nall conspired to overwhelm his better feelings\\nhe ventured to propose that she should leave\\n80 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0471.jp2"}, "472": {"fulltext": "458 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nher home and be the companion of his for-\\ntunes.\\nHe was quite a novice in seduction, and\\nblushed and faltered at his own baseness\\nbut so innocent of mind was his intended\\nvictim that she was at first at a loss to com-\\nprehend his meaning, and why she should\\nleave her native village and the humble roof\\nof her parents. When at last the nature of his\\nproposal flashed upon her pure mind, the\\neffect was withering. She did not weep; she\\ndid not break forth into reproach she said not\\na word, but she shrunk back aghast as from a\\nviper, gave him a look of anguish that pierced\\nto his very soul, and, clasping her hands in\\nagony, fled, as if for refuge, to her father s\\ncottage.\\nThe officer retired confounded, humiliated,\\nand repentant. It is uncertain what might\\nhave been the result of the conflict of his feel-\\nings, had not his thoughts been diverted by\\nthe bustle of departure. New scenes, new\\npleasures, and new companions soon dissipated\\nhis self-reproach and stifled his tenderness;\\nyet, amidst the stir of camps, the revelries of\\ngarrisons, the array of armies, and even the\\ndin of battles, his thoughts would sometimes\\nsteal back to the scenes of rural quiet and vil-\\nlage simplicity the white cottage, the footpath\\nalong the silver brook and up the hawthorn\\nhedge, and the little village maid loitering\\nalong it, leaning on his arm and listening to\\nhim with eyes beaming with unconscious affec-\\ntion.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0472.jp2"}, "473": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 459\\nThe shock which the poor girl had received\\nin the destruction of all her ideal world had\\nindeed been cruel. Paintings and hysterics\\nhad at first shaken her tender frame, and were\\nsucceeded by a settled and pining melancholy.\\nShe had beheld from her window the march of\\nthe departing troops. She had seen her faith-\\nless lover borne off, as if in triumph, amidst\\nthe sound of drum and trumpet and the pomp\\nof arms. She strained a last aching gaze after\\nhim as the morning sun glittered about his\\nfigure and his plume waved in the breeze he\\npassed away like a bright vision from her sight,\\nand left her all in darkness.\\nIt would be trite to dwell on the particu-\\nlars of her after-story. It was, like other tales\\nof love, melancholy. She avoided society and\\nwandered out alone in the walks she had most\\nfrequented with her lover. She sought, like\\nthe stricken deer, to weep in silence and lone-\\nliness and brood over the barbed sorrow that\\nrankled in her soul. Sometimes she would be,\\nseen late of an evening sitting in the porch of\\nthe village church, and the milkmaids, return-\\ning from the fields, would now and then over-\\nhear her singing some plaintive ditty in the\\nhawthorn walk. She became fervent in her\\ndevotions at church, and as the old people saw\\nher approach, so wasted away, yet with a\\nhectic gloom and that hallowed air which mel-\\nancholy diffuses round the form, they would\\nmake way for her as for something spiritual,\\nand looking after her, would shake their heads\\nin gloomy foreboding.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0473.jp2"}, "474": {"fulltext": "460 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nShe felt a conviction that she was hastening\\nto the tomb, but looked forward to it as a place\\nof rest. The silver cord that had bound her to\\nexistence was loosed, and there seemed to be\\nno more pleasure under the sun. If ever her\\ngentle bosom had entertained resentment\\nagainst her lover, it was extinguished. She\\nwas incapable of angry passions, and in a\\nmoment of saddened tenderness she penned\\nhim a farewell letter. It was couched in the\\nsimplest language, but touching from its very\\nsimplicity. She told him that she was dying,\\nand did not conceal from him that his conduct\\nwas the cause. She even depicted the suffer-\\nings which she had experienced, but concluded\\nwith saying that she could not die in peace\\nuntil she had sent him her forgiveness and her\\nblessing.\\nBy degrees her strength declined that she\\ncould no longer leave the cottage. She could\\nonly totter to the window, where, propped up\\nin her chair, it was her enjoyment to sit all\\nday and look out upon the landscape. Still\\nshe uttered no complaint nor imparted to any\\none the malady that was preying on her heart.\\nShe never even mentioned her lover s name,\\nbut would lay her head on her mother s bosom\\nand weep in silence. Her poor parents hung\\nin mute anxiety over this fading blossom of\\ntheir hopes, still flattering themselves that it\\nmight again revive to freshness and that the\\nbright unearthly bloom which sometimes\\nflushed her cheek might be the promise of\\nreturning health.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0474.jp2"}, "475": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 461\\nIn this way she was seated between them one\\nSunday afternoon; her hands were clasped in\\ntheirs, the lattice was thrown open, and the soft\\nair that stole in brought with it the fragrance\\nof the clustering honeysuckle which her own\\nhands had trained round the window.\\nHer father had just been reading a chapter\\nin the Bible it spoke of the vanity of worldly\\nthings and of the joys of heaven it seemed to\\nhave diffused comfort and serenity through her\\nbosom. Her eye was fixed on the distant vil-\\nlage church the bell had tolled for the even-\\ning service the last villager was lagging into\\nthe porch, and everything had sunk into that\\nhallowed stillness peculiar to the day of rest.\\nHer parents were gazing on her with yearning\\nhearts. Sickness and sorrow, which pass so\\nroughly over some faces, had given to hers the\\nexpression of a seraph s. A tear trembled in\\nher soft blue eye. Was she thinking of her\\nfaithless lover? or were her thoughts wandering\\nto that distant churchyard, into whose bosom\\nshe might soon be gathered?\\nSuddenly the clang of hoofs was heard; a\\nhorseman galloped to the cottage; he dis-\\nmounted before the window; the poor girl\\ngave a faint exclamation and sunk back in her\\nchair it was her repentant lover. He rushed\\ninto the house and flew to clasp her to his bos-\\nom but her wasted form, her deathlike coun-\\ntenance so wan, yet so lovely in its desolation\\nsmote him to the soul, and he threw himself\\nin agony at her feet. She was too faint to rise\\nshe attempted to extend her trembling hand", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0475.jp2"}, "476": {"fulltext": "462 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nher lips moved as if she spoke, but no word was\\narticulated; she looked down upon him with a\\nsmile of unutterable tenderness, and closed her\\neyes forever.\\nSuch are the particulars which I gathered of\\nthis village story. They are but scanty, and I\\nam conscious have little novelty to recommend\\nthem. In the present rage also for strange in-\\ncident and high-seasoned narrative they may\\nappear trite and insignificant, but they inter-\\nested me strongly at the time and, taken in\\nconnection with the affecting ceremony which\\nI had just witnessed, left a deeper impression\\non my mind than many circumstances of a\\nmore striking nature. I have passed through\\nthe place since, and visited the church again\\nfrom a better motive than mere curiosity. It\\nwas a wintry evening; the trees were stripped\\nof their foliage, the churchyard looked naked\\nand mournful, and the wind rustled coldly\\nthrough the dry grass. Evergreens, however,\\nhad been planted about the grave of the vil-\\nlage favorite, and osiers were bent over it to\\nkeep the turf uninjured.\\nThe church-door was open and I stepped in.\\nThere hung the chaplet of flowers and the\\ngloves, as on the day of the funeral the flow-\\ners were withered, it is true, but care seemed to\\nhave been taken that no dust should soil their\\nVv^hiteness. I have seen many monuments\\nwhere art has exhausted its powers to awaken\\nthe S3aiipathy of the spectator, but I have met\\nwith none that spoke more touchingly to my\\nheart than this simple but delicate memento of\\ndeparted innocence.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0476.jp2"}, "477": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 463\\nTHE ANGLER.\\nThis day Dame Nature seem d in love,\\nThe lusty sap began to move,\\nFresh juice did stir th embracing vines,\\nAnd birds had drawn their valentines.\\nThe jealous trout that low did lie.\\nRose at a well-dissembled flie.\\nThere stood my friend, with patient skill,\\nAttending of his trembling quill.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Sir H. Wotton.\\nIt is said that many an unlucky urchin is in-\\nduced to run away from his family and betake\\nhimself to a seafaring life from reading the his-\\ntory of Robinson Crusoe and I suspect that, in\\nlike manner, many of those worthy gentlemen\\nwho are given to haunt the sides of pastoral\\nstreams with angle-rods in hand may trace the\\norigin of their passion to the seductive pages\\nof honest Izaak Walton. I recollect studying\\nhis Complete Angler several years since in\\ncompany with a knot of friends in America,\\nand, moreover, that we were all completely\\nbitten with the angling mania. It was early\\nin the year, but as soon as the weather was\\nauspicious, and that the spring began to melt\\ninto the verge of summer, we took rod in hand\\nand sallied into the country, as stark mad as\\nwas ever Don Quixote from reading books of\\nchivalry.\\nOne of our party had equaled the Don in the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0477.jp2"}, "478": {"fulltext": "464 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfulness of his equipments, being attired cap-a-\\npie for the enterprise. He wore a broad-skirted\\nfustian coat, perplexed with half a hundred\\npockets; a pair of, stout shoes and leathern\\ngaiters a basket slung on one side for fish a\\npatent rod, a landing net, and a score of other\\ninconveniences only to be found in the true\\nangler s armory. Thus harnessed for the field,\\nhe was as great a matter of stare and wonder-\\nment among the country folk, who had never\\nseen a regular angler, as was the steel-clad\\nhero of La Mancha among the goatherds of the\\nSierra Morena.\\nOur first essay was along a mountain brook\\namong the Highlands of the Hudson a most\\nunfortunate place for the execution of those\\npiscatory tactics which had been invented\\nalong the velvet margins of quiet English riv-\\nulets. It was one of those wild streams that\\nlavish, among our romantic solitudes, unheed-\\ned beauties enough to fill the sketch-book of a\\nhunter of the picturesque. Sometimes it would\\nleap down rocky shelves, making small cas-\\ncades, over which the trees threw their broad\\nbalancing sprays and long nameless weeds\\nhung in fringes from the impending banks,\\ndripping with diamond drops. Sometimes it\\nwould brawl and fret along a ravine in the\\nmatted shade of a forest, filling it with mur-\\nmurs, and after this termagant career would\\nsteal forth into open day with the most\\nplacid, demur face imaginable, as I have seen\\nsome pestilent shrew of a housewife, after fill-\\ning her home with uproar and ill-humor, come", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0478.jp2"}, "479": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 465\\ndimpling out of doors, swimming and curtsey-\\ning and smiling upon all the world.\\nHow smoothly would this vagrant brook\\nglide at such times through some bosom of\\ngreen meadowland among the mountains,\\nwhere the quiet was only interrupted by the\\noccasional tinkling of a bell from the lazy cat-\\ntle among the clover or the sound of a wood-\\ncutter s axe from the neighboring forest!\\nFor my part, I was always a bungler at all\\nkinds of sport that required either patience or\\nadroitness, and had not angled above half an\\nhour before I had completely satisfied the\\nsentiment, and convinced myself of the truth\\nof Izaak Walton s opinion, that angling is\\nsomething like poetry a man must be born to\\nit. I hooked myself instead of the fish, tangled\\nmy line in every tree, lost my bait, broke my\\nrod, until I gave up the attempt in despair,\\nand passed the day under the trees reading old\\nIzaak, satisfied that it was his fascinating vein\\nof honest simplicity and rural feeling that had\\nbewitched me, and not the passion for angling.\\nMy companions, however, were more perse-\\nvering in their delusion. I have them at this\\nmoment before my eyes, stealing along the\\nborder of the brook where it lay open to the\\nday or was merely fringed by shrubs and\\nbushes. I see the bittern rising with hollow\\nscream as they break in upon his rarely-in-\\nvaded haunt; the kingfisher watching them\\nsuspiciously from his dry tree that overhangs\\nthe deep black millpond in the gorge of the\\nhills; the tortoise letting himself slip sideways", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0479.jp2"}, "480": {"fulltext": "466 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfrom off the stone or log on which he is sunning\\nhimself; and the panic-struck frog plumping\\nin headlong as they approach, and spreading\\nan alarm throughout the watery world around.\\nI recollect also that, after toiling and watch-\\ning and creeping about for the greater part of\\na day, with scarcely any success in spite of all\\nour admirable apparatus, a lubberly country\\nurchin came down from the hills, with a rod\\nmade from a branch of a tree, a few yards of\\ntwine, and, as Heaven shall help me I believe\\na crooked pin for a hook, baited with a vile\\nearthworm, and in half an hour caught more\\nfish than we had nibbles throughout the day!\\nBut, above all, I recollect the *good, honest,\\nwholesome, hungry repast which we made\\nunder a beech tree just by a spring of pure,\\nsweet water that stole out of the side of a hill,\\nand how, when it was over, one of the party\\nread old Izaak Walton s scene with the milk-\\nmaid, while I lay on the grass and built castles\\nin a bright pile of clouds until I fell asleep.\\nAll this may appear like mere egotism, yet I\\ncannot refrain from uttering these recollections,\\nwhich are passing like a strain of music over\\nmy mind and have been called up by an agree-\\nable scene which I witnessed not long since.\\nIn the morning s stroll along the banks of the\\nAlun, a beautiful little stream which flows down\\nfrom the Welsh hills and throws itself into the\\nDee, my attention was attracted to a group\\nseated on the margin. On approaching I found\\nit to consist of a veteran angler and two rustic\\ndisciples. The former was an old fellow with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0480.jp2"}, "481": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 467\\na wooden leg, with clothes very much but very\\ncarefully patched, betokening poverty hon-\\nestly come by and decently maintained. His\\nface bore the marks of former storms, but\\npresent fair weather, its furrows had been\\nworn into an habitual smile, his iron-gray\\nlocks hung about his ears, and he had alto-\\ngether the good-humored air of a constitu-\\ntional philosopher who was disposed to take\\nthe world as it went. One of his companions\\nwas a ragged wight with the skulking look of\\nan arrant poacher, and I ll warrant could find\\nhis way to any gentleman s fish-pond in the\\nneighborhood in the darkest night. The\\nother was a tall, awkward country lad, with a\\nlounging gait, and apparently somewhat of a\\nrustic beau. The old man was busy in exam-\\nining tke maw of a trout which he had just\\nkilled, to discover by its contents what insects\\nwere seasonable for bait, and was lecturing on\\nthe subject to his companions, who appeared\\nto listen with infinite deference. I have a\\nkind feeling towards all brothers of the\\nangle ever since I read Izaak Walton. They\\nare men, he affirms, of a mild, sweet and\\npeaceable spirit and my esteem for them has\\nbeen increased since I met with an old Tre-\\ntyse of Fishing with the Angle, in which are\\nset forth many of the maxims of their inoffens-\\nive fraternity. Take good hede, sayeth this\\nhonest little tretyse, that in going about your\\ndisportes ye open no man s gates but that ye\\nshet them again. Also ye shall not use this\\nforsayd crafti disport for no covetousness to", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0481.jp2"}, "482": {"fulltext": "468 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nthe encreasing and sparing of your money only,\\nbut principally for your solace, and to cause\\nthe helth of your body and specyally of your\\nsoule.\\nI thought that I could perceive in the vet-\\neran angler before me an exemplification of\\nwhat I had read; and there was a cheerful con-\\ntentedness in his looks that quite drew me\\ntowards him. I could not but remark the gal-\\nlant manner in which he stumped from one\\npart of the brook to another, waving his rod\\nin the air to keep the line from dragging on\\nthe ground or catching among the bushes, and\\nthe adroitness with which he would throw his\\nfly to any particular place, sometimes skim-\\nming it lightly along a little rapid, sometimes\\ncasting it into one of those dark holes made by\\na twisted root or overhanging bank in which\\nthe large trout are apt to lurk. In the mean-\\nwhile he was giving instructions to his two dis-\\nciples, showing them the manner in which they\\nshould handle their rods, fix their flies, and\\nplay them along the surface of the stream.\\nThe scene brought to my mind the instructions\\nof the sage Piscator to his scholar. The\\n*From this same treatise it would appear that angHng\\nis a more industrious and devout employment than it is\\ngenerally considered. For when ye purpose to go on\\nyour disportes in fishynge ye will not desyre greatlye\\nmany persons with you, which might let you of your\\ngame. And that ye may serve God devoutly in saying\\neffectually your customable prayers. And thus doying,\\nye shall eschew and also avoyde many vices, as ydleness^\\nwhich is prmcipall cause to inducem an to many other\\nvices, as it is right well known.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0482.jp2"}, "483": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 469\\ncountry around was of that pastoral kind which\\nWalton is fond of describing. It was a part of\\nthe great plain of Cheshire, close by the beau-\\ntiful vale of Gessford, and just where the in-\\nferior Welsh hills begin to swell up from\\namong fresh-smelling meadows. The day, too,\\nlike that recorded in his work, was mild and\\nsunshiny, with now and then a soft-dropping\\nshower that sowed the whole earth with dia-\\nmonds.\\nI soon fell into conversation with the old\\nangler, and was so much entertained that,\\nunder pretext of receiving instructions in his\\nart, I kept company with him almost the\\nwhole day, wandering along the banks of the\\nstream and listening to his talk. He was very\\ncommunicative having all the easy garrulity\\nof cheerful old age, and I fancy was a little\\nflattered by having an opportunity of display-\\ning his piscatory lore, for who does not like\\nnow and then to play the sage?\\nHe had been much of a rambler in his day,\\nand had passed some years of his youth in\\nAmerica, particularly in Savannah, where he\\nhad entered into trade and had been ruined\\nby the indiscretion of a partner. He had after-\\nwards experienced many ups and downs in life\\nuntil he got into the navy, where his leg was\\ncarried away by a cannon-ball at the battle of\\nCamperdown. This was the only stroke of\\nreal good-fortune he had ever experienced, for\\nit got him a pension, which, together with\\nsome small paternal property, brought him in\\na revenue of nearly forty pounds. On this he", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0483.jp2"}, "484": {"fulltext": "470 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nretired to nis native village, where he lived\\nquietly and independently, and devoted the\\nremainder of his life to the noble art of ang-\\nling.\\nI found that he had read Izaac Walton\\nattentively, and he seemed to have imbibed all\\nhis simple frankness and prevalent good-\\nhumor. Though he had been sorely buffeted\\nabout the world, he was satisfied that the\\nworld, in itself, was good and beautiful.\\nThough he had been as roughly used in differ-\\nent countries as a poor sheep that is fleeced by\\nevery hedge and thicket, yet he spoke of every\\nnation with candor and kindness, appearing\\nto look only on the good side of things and,\\nabove all, he was almost the only man I had\\never met with who had been an unfortunate\\nadventurer in America and had honesty and\\nmagnanimity enough to take the fault to his\\nown door, and not to curse the country. The\\nlad that was receiving his instructions, I\\nlearnt, was the son and heir-apparent of a fat\\nold widow who kept the village inn, and of\\ncourse a youth of some expectation, and much\\ncourted by the idle gentleman-like personages\\nof the place. In taking him under his care,\\ntherefore, the old man had probably an eye to\\na privileged corner in the tap-room and an\\noccasional cup of cheerful ale free of expense.\\nThere is certainly something in angling if\\nwe could forget, which anglers are apt to do,\\nthe cruelties and tortures inflicted on worms\\nand insects that tends to produce a gentleness\\nof spirit and a pure serenity of mind. As the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0484.jp2"}, "485": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 471\\nEnglish are methodical even in their recrea-\\ntions, and are the most scientific of sportsmen,\\nit has been reduced among them to perfect rule\\nand system. Indeed, it is an amusement\\npeculiarly adapted to the mild and highly-cul-\\ntivated scenery of England, where every\\nroughness has been softened away from the\\nlandscape. It is delightful to saunter along\\nthose limpid streams which wander, like veins\\nof silver, through the bosom of this beautiful\\ncountry, leading one through a diversity of\\nsmall home scenery sometimes wandering\\nthrough ornamented grounds; sometimes\\nbrimming along through rich pasturage,\\nwhere the fresh green is mingled with sweet-\\nsmelling flowers sometimes venturing in sight\\nof villages and hamlets, and then running\\ncapriciously away into shady retirements. The\\nsweetness and serenity of Nature and the quiet\\nwatchfulness of the sport gradually bring on\\npleasant fits of musing, which are now and\\nthen agreeably interrupted by the song of a\\nbird, the distant whistle of the peasant, or per-\\nhaps the vagary of some fish leaping out of the\\nstill water and skimming transiently about its\\nglassy surface. When I would beget con-\\ntent, says Izaak Walton and increase confi-\\ndence in the power and wisdom and providence\\nof Almighty God, I will walk the meadows\\nby some gliding stream, and there contem-\\nplate the lilies that take no care, and those\\nvery many other little living creatures that are\\nnot only created, but fed (man knows not how)", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0485.jp2"}, "486": {"fulltext": "472 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nby the goodness of the God of Nature, and\\ntherefore trust in Him.\\nI cannot forbear to give another quotation\\nfrom one of those ancient champions of ang-\\nling which breathes the same innocent and\\nhappy spirit:\\nLet me live harmlessly, and near the brink\\nOf Trent or Avon have a dwelling-place\\nWhere I may see my quill, or cork, down sink\\nWith eager bite of Pike, or Bleak, or Dace\\nAnd on the world and my Creator think\\nWhilst so^ne men strive ill-gotten goods t embrace\\nAnd others spend their time in base excess\\nOf wine, or worse, in war or wantonness.\\nLet them that will, these pastimes still pursue,\\nAnd on such pleasing fancies feed their fill\\nSo I the fields and meadows ^een may view,\\nAnd daily by fresh rivers walk at will.\\nAmong the daisies and the violets blue.\\nRed hyacinth and yellow daffodil.\\nOn parting with the old angler I inquired\\nafter his place of abode, and, happening to be\\nin the neighborhood of the village a few eve-\\nnings afterwards, I had the curiosity to seek\\nhim out. I found him living in a small cot-\\ntage containing only one room, but a perfect\\ncuriosity in its method and arrangement. It\\nwas on the skirts of the village, on a green\\nbank a little back from the road, with a small\\ngarden in front stocked with kitchen herbs and\\nadorned with a few flowers. The whole front\\nof the cottage was overrun with a honeysuckle.\\nOn the top was a ship for a weathercock. The\\nJ. Davors.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0486.jp2"}, "487": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 473\\ninterior was fitted up in a truly nautical style,\\nhis ideas of comfort and convenience having\\nbeen acquired on the berth-deck of a man-of-\\nwar. A hammock was slung from the ceiling\\nwhich in the daytime was lashed up so as to take\\nbut little room. From the centre of the cham-\\nber hung a model of a ship, of his own work-\\nmanship. Two or three chairs, a table, and a\\nlarge sea-chest formed the principal mov-\\nables. About the walls were stuck up naval\\nballads, such as Admiral Hosier s Ghost,\\nAll in the Downs, and Tom Bowling,\\nintermingled with pictures of sea-fights, among\\nwhich the battle of Camperdown held a distin-\\nguished place. The mantelpiece was decorated\\nwith sea-shells, over which hung a quadrant,\\nflanked by two wood-cuts of most bitter- look-\\ning naval commanders. His implements for\\nangling were carefully disposed on nails and\\nhooks about the room. On a shelf was\\narranged his library, containing a work on ang-\\nling, much worn, a Bible covered with canvas,\\nan odd volume or two of voyages, a nautical\\nalmanac, and a book of songs.\\nHis family consisted of a large black cat\\nwith one eye, and a parrot which he had\\ncaught and tamed and educated himself in the\\ncourse of one of his voyages, and which\\nuttered a variety of sea- phrases with the\\nhoarse brattling tone of a veteran boatswain.\\nThe establishment reminded me of that of\\nthe renowned Robinson Crusoe; it was kept\\nin neat order, everything being stowed\\naway with the regularity of a ship of war;", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0487.jp2"}, "488": {"fulltext": "4U THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nand he informed me that he scoured the deck\\nevery morning and swept it between meals.\\nI found him seated on a bench before the\\ndoor, smoking his pipe in the soft evening sun-\\nshine. His cat was purring soberly on the\\nthreshold, and his parrot describing some\\nstrange evolutions in an iron ring that swung\\nin the centre of his cage. He had been ang-\\nling all day, and gave me a history of his sport\\nwith as much minuteness as a general would\\ntalk over a campaign, being particularly ani-\\nmated in relating the manner in which he had\\ntaken a large trout, which had completely\\ntasked all his skill and wariness, and which he\\nhad sent as a trophy to mine hostess of the\\ninn.\\nHow comforting it is to see a cheerful and\\ncontented old age, and to behold a poor fellow\\nlike this, after being tempest-tost through life,\\nsafely moored in a snug and quiet harbor in\\nthe evening of his days! His happiness, how-\\never, sprung from within himself and was in-\\ndependent of external circumstances, for he\\nhad that inexhaustible good-nature which is\\nthe most precious gift of Heaven, spreading\\nitself like oil over the troubled sea of thought,\\nand keeping the mind smooth and equable in\\nthe roughest weather.\\nOn inquiring further about him, I learnt\\nthat he was a universal favorite in the village\\nand the oracle of the tap-room, where he de-\\nlighted the rustics with his songs, and, like\\nSindbad, astonished them wnth his stories of\\nstrange lands and shipwrecks and sea-fights.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0488.jp2"}, "489": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 475\\nHe was much noticed too by gentlemen\\nsportsmen of the neighborhood, had taught\\nseveral of them the art of angling, and was a\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0privileged visitor to their kitchens. The\\nwhole tenor of his life was quiet and inoffen-\\nsive, being principally passed about the neigh-\\nboring streams when the weather and season\\nwere favorable; and at other times he em-\\nployed himself at home, preparing his fishing-\\ntackle for the next campaign or manufacturing\\nrods, nets, and flies for his patrons and pupils\\namong the gentry.\\nHe was a regular attendant at church on\\nSundays, though he generally fell asleep dur-\\ning the sermon. He had made it his particu-\\nlar request that when he died he should be\\nburied in a green spot which he could see from\\nhis seat in church, and which he had marked\\nout ever since he was a boy, and had thought\\nof when far from home on the raging sea in\\ndanger of being food for the fishes: it was the\\nspot where his father and mother had been\\nburied.\\n1 have done, for fear that my reader is grow-\\ning weary, but I could not refrain from draw-\\ning the picture of this worthy brother of the\\nangle, who has made me more than ever in\\nlove with the theory, though I fear I shall\\nnever be adroit in the practice, of his art and\\nI will conclude this rambling sketch in the\\nwords of honest Izaak Walton, by craving the\\nblessing of St. Peter s Master upon my reader,\\nand upon all that are true lovers of virtue,\\nand dare trust in His providence, and be\\nquiet, and go a- angling.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0489.jp2"}, "490": {"fulltext": "476 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nTHE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW.\\n(found among the papers of the late died-\\nrich knickerbocker.)\\nA pleasing land of drowsy-hedd it was,\\nOf dreams that wave before the half-shut eye,\\nAnd of gay castles in the clouds that pays,\\nFor ever flushing round a summer sky.\\nCastle of Indolence.\\nIn the bosom of one of those spacious coves\\nwhich indent the eastern shore of the Hudson,\\nat that broad expansion of the river denomi-\\nnated by the ancient Dutch navi^jators the\\nTappan Zee, and where they always prudently\\nshortened sail and implored the protection of\\nSt. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a\\nsmall market-town or rural port which by some\\nis called Greensburg, but which is more gen-\\nerally and properly known by the name of\\nTarry Town. This name was given, we are\\ntold, in former days b}^ the good housewives of\\nthe adjacent country from the inveterate pro-\\npensity of their husbands to linger about the\\nvillage tavern on market days. Be that as it\\nmay, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely\\nadvert to it for the sake of being precise and\\nauthentic. Not far from this village, per-\\nhaps about two miles, there is a little valley,\\nor rather lap of land, among high hills, which", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0490.jp2"}, "491": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 477\\nis one of the quietest places in the whole\\nworld. A small brook glides through it, with\\njust murmur enough to lull one to repose, and\\nthe occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of\\na woodpecker is almost the only sound that\\never breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.\\nI recollect that when a stripling my first ex-\\nploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall\\nwalnut trees that shades one side of the valley.\\nI had wandered into it at noontide, when all\\nNature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by\\nthe roar of my own gun as it broke the Sab-\\nbath stillness around and was prolonged and\\nreverberated by the angry echoes. If ever I\\nshould wish for a retreat whither I might steal\\nfrom the world and its distractions and dream\\nquietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I\\nknow of none more promising than this little\\nvalley.\\nFrom the listless repose of the place and the\\npeculiar character of its inhabitants, who are\\ndescendants from the original Dutch settlers,\\nthis sequestered glen has long been known by\\nthe name of Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic lads\\nare called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout\\nall the neighboring country. A drowsy,\\ndreamy influence seems to hang over the land\\nand to pervade the very atmosphere. Some\\nsay that the place was bewitched by a High\\nGerman doctor during the early days of the\\nsettlement; others, that an old Indian chief,\\nthe prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his\\npowwows there before the country was dis-\\ncovered by Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0491.jp2"}, "492": {"fulltext": "478 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nit is, the place still continues under the sway\\nof some witching power that holds a spell over\\nthe minds of ^the good people, causing them\\nto walk in a continual reverie. They are\\ngiven to all kinds of marvelous beliefs, are\\nsubject to trances and visions, and frequently\\nsee strange sights and hear music and voices\\nin the air. The whole neighborhood abounds\\nwith local tales, haunted spots, and twilight\\nsuperstitions stars shoot and meteors glare\\nof tener across the valley than in any other\\npart of the country, and the nightmare, with\\nher whole nine- fold, seems to make it the fav-\\norite scene of her gambols.\\nThe dominant spirit, however, that haunts\\nthis enchanted region, and seems to be com-\\nmander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is\\nthe apparition of a figure on horseback with-\\nout a head. It is said b}^ some to be the ghost\\nof a Hessian trooper whose head had been car-\\nried away by a cannon-ball in some nameless\\nbattle during the Revolutionary War, and who\\nis ever and anon seen by the country-folk\\nhurrying along in the gloom of night as if on\\nthe wings of the wind. His haunts are not\\nconfined to the valley, but extend at times to\\nthe adjacent roads, and especially to the vicin-\\nity of a church at no great distance. Indeed,\\ncertain of the most authentic historians of those\\nparts, who have been careful in collecting and\\ncollating the floating facts concerning this\\nspectre, allege that the body of the trooper,\\nhaving been buried in the churchyard, tha\\nghost rides forth to the scene of battle in", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0492.jp2"}, "493": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 479\\nnightly quest of his head, and that the rushing-\\nspeed with which he sometimes passes along\\nthe Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to\\nhis being belated and in a hurry to get back\\nto the churchyard before daybreak.\\nSuch is the general purport of this legend-\\nary superstition, which has furnished materials\\nfor many a wild story in that region of\\nshadows and the spectre is known at all the\\ncountry firesides by the name of the Headless\\nHorseman of Sleepy Hollow.\\nIt is remarkable that the visionary propen-\\nsity I have mentioned is not confined to the\\nnative inhabitants of the valley, but is uncon-\\nsciously imbibed by every one who resides\\nthere for a time. However wide awake they\\nmay have been before they entered that sleepy\\nregion, they are sure in a little time to inhale\\nthe witching influence of the air and begin to\\ngrow imaginative to dream dreams and see\\napparitions.\\nI mention this peaceful spot with all possible\\nlaud, for it is in such little retired Dutch val-\\nleys, found here and there embosomed in the\\ngreat State of New York, that population,\\nmanners, and customs remain fixed, while the\\ngreat torrent of migration and improvement,\\nwhich is making such incessant changes in\\nother parts of this restless country, sweeps by\\nthem unobserved. They are like those little\\nnooks of still water which border a rapid\\nstream where we ma^ see the straw and bubble\\nriding quietly at anchor or slowly revolving\\nin their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0493.jp2"}, "494": {"fulltext": "480 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nof the passing current. Though many years\\nhave elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of\\nSleepy Hollow, yet I question whether I\\nshould not still find the same trees and the\\nsame families vegetating in its sheltered bosom.\\nIn this by-place of Nature there abode, in\\na remote period of America,n history that is to\\nsay, some thirty years since a worthy wight\\nof the name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned,\\nor, as he expressed it, tarried, in Sleepy\\nHollow for the purpose of instructing the chil-\\ndren of the vicinity. He was a native of Con-\\nnecticut, a State which supplies the Union with\\npioneers for the mind as well as for the forest,\\nand sends forth yearly its legions of frontier\\nwoodmen and country schoolmasters. The\\ncognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to\\nhis person. He was tall, but exceedingly\\nlank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and\\nlegs, hands that dangled a mile out of his\\nsleeves, feet that might have served for\\nshovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung\\ntogether. His head was small, and flat at\\ntop, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes,\\nand a long snip nose, so that it looked like a\\nweather-cock perched upon his spindle neck\\nto tell which way the wind blew. To see him\\nstriding along the profile of a hill on a windy\\nday, with his clothes bagging and fluttering\\nabout him, one might have mistaken him for\\nthe genius of Famine descending upon the\\nearth or some scarecrow eloping from a corn-\\nfield.\\nHis school-house was a low building of one", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0494.jp2"}, "495": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 481\\nlarge room, rudely constructed of logs, the\\nwindows partly glazed and partly patched with\\nleaves of old copy-books. It was most ingen-\\niously secured at vacant hours by a withe\\ntwisted in the handle of the door and stakes\\nset against the window- shutters, so that,\\nthough a thief might get in with perfect ease,\\nhe would find some embarrassment in getting\\nout an idea most probably borrowed by the\\narchitect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery\\nof an eel-pot. The school-house stood in a\\nrather lonely but pleasant situation, just at the\\nfoot of a woody hill, with a brook running\\nclose by and a formidable birch tree growing\\nat one end of it. From hence the low mur-\\nmur of his pupils voices, conning over their\\nlessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer s\\nday like the hum of a bee hive, interrupted\\nnow and then by the authoritative voice of the\\nmaster in the tone of menace or command, or,\\nperadventure, by the appalling sound of the\\nbirch as he urged some tardy loiterer along the\\nflowery path of knowledge. Truth to say, he\\nwas a conscientious man, and ever bore in\\nmind the golden maxim, Spare the rod and\\nspoil the child. Ichabod Crane s scholars\\ncertainly were not spoiled.\\nI would not have it imagined, however, that\\nhe was one of those cruel potentates of the\\nschool who joy in the smart of their subjects;\\non the contrary, he administered justice with\\ndiscrimination rather than severity, taking\\nthe burden off the backs of the weak and lay-\\ning it on those of the strong. Your mere\\n81 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0495.jp2"}, "496": {"fulltext": "482 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\npuny stripling-, that winced at the least flour-\\nish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence;\\nbut the claims of justice were satisfied by\\ninflicting a double portion on some little\\ntough, wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch ur-\\nchin, who sulked and swelled and grew\\ndogged and sullen beneath the birch. All this\\nhe called doing his duty by their parents;\\nand he never inflicted a chastisement without\\nfollowing it by the assurance, so consolatory\\nto the smarting urchin, that he would re-\\nmember it and thank him for it the longest day\\nhe had to live.\\nWhen school-hours were over he was even\\nthe companion and playmate of the larger\\nboys, and on holiday afternoons would convoy\\nsome of the smaller ones home who happened\\nto have pretty sisters or good housewives for\\nmothers noted for the comforts of the cup-\\nboard. Indeed it behooved him to keep on\\ngood terms with his pupils. The revenue aris-\\ning from his school was small, and would have\\nbeen scarcely sufficient to furnish him with\\ndaily bread, for he was a huge feeder and,\\nthough lank, had the dilating powers of an\\nanaconda; but to help out his maintenance he\\nwas, according to country customs in those\\nparts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the\\nfarmers whose children he instructed. With\\nthese he lived successively a week at a time\\nthus going the rounds for the neighborhood\\nwith all his worldly effects tied up in a cotton\\nhandkerchief.\\nThat all this might not be too onerous on the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0496.jp2"}, "497": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 483\\npui ses of his rustic patrons, who are apt to\\nconsider the cost of schooling a grievous bur-\\nden and schoolmasters as mere drones, he had\\nvarious ways of rendering himself both useful\\nand agreeable. He assisted the farmers occa-\\nsionally in the lighter labors of their farms,\\nhelped to make hay, mended the fences, took\\nthe horses to water, drove the cows from pas-\\nture, and cut wood for the winter fire. He\\nlaid aside, too, all the dominant dignity and\\nabsolute sway with which he lorded it in his\\nlittle empire, the school, and became wonder-\\nfully gentle and ingratiating. He found favors\\nin the eyes of the mothers by petting the chil-\\ndren, particularly the youngest; and like the\\nlion bold, which whilom so magnanimously\\nthe lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on\\none knee and rock a cradle with his foot for\\nwhole hours together.\\nIn addition to his other vocations, he was\\nthe singing-master of the neighborhood and\\npicked up many bright shillings by instructing\\nthe young folks in psalmody. It was a matter\\nof no little vanity to him on Sundays to take\\nhis station in front of the church-gallery with\\na band of chosen singers, where, in his own\\nmind, he completely carried away the palm\\nfrom the parson. Certain it is, his voice re-\\nsounded far above all the rest of the congrega-\\ntion, and there are peculiar quavers still to be\\nheard in that church, and which may even be\\nheard half a mile off, quite to the opposite side\\nof the mill-pond on a still Sunday morning,\\nwhich are said to be legitimately descended", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0497.jp2"}, "498": {"fulltext": "484 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfrom the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by\\ndivers little makeshifts in that ingenious way\\nwhich is commonly denominated by hook\\nand by crook, the worthy pedagogue got on\\ntolerably enough, and was thought, by all who\\nunderstood nothing of the labor of headwork,\\nto have a wonderfully easy life of it.\\nThe schoolmaster is generally a man of\\nsome importance in the female circle of a\\nrural neighborhood, being considered a kind of\\nidle, gentlemanlike personage of vastly supe-\\nrior taste and accomplishments to the rough\\ncountry swains, and, indeed, inferior in learn-\\ning only to the parson. His appearance,\\ntherefore, is apt to occasion some little stir at\\nthe tea-table of a farmhouse and the addition\\nof a supernumerary dish of cakes or sweet-\\nmeats, or, peradventure, the parade of a silver\\ntea-pot. Our man of letters, therefore, was\\npeculiarly happy in the smiles of all the\\ncountry damsels. How he would figure\\namong them in the churchyard between ser-\\nvices on Sundays, gathering grapes for them\\nfrom the wild vines that overrun the surround-\\ning trees; reciting for their amusement all the\\nepitaphs on the tombstones; or sauntering,\\nwith a whole bevy of them, along the banks\\nof the adjacent mill-pond, while the more\\nbashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly\\nback, envying his superior elegance and ad-\\ndress.\\nFrom this half-itinerant life, also, he was a\\nkind of traveling gazette, carrying the whole\\nbudget of local gossip from house to house, so", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0498.jp2"}, "499": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 485\\nthat his appearance was always greeted with\\nsatisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by\\nthe women as a man of great erudition, for he\\nhad read several books quite through, and was\\na perfect master of Cotton Mather s History\\nof New England Witchcraft, in which, by\\nthe way, he most firmly and potently believed.\\nHe was, in fact, an odd mixture of small\\nshrewdness and simple credulity. His appe-\\ntite for the marvelous and his powers of digest-\\ning 4t were equally extraordinary, and both\\nhad been increased by his residence in this\\nspellbound region. No tale was too gross or\\nmonstrous for his capacious swallow. It was\\noften his delight, after his school was dismissed\\nin the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich\\nbed of clover bordering the little brook that\\nwhimpered by his schoolhouse, and there con\\nover old Mather s direful tales until the gath-\\nering dusk of the evening made the printed\\npage a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as\\nhe wended his way by swamp and stream and\\nawful woodland to the farm-house where he\\nhappened to be quartered, every sound of Na-\\nture at that witching hour fluttered his excited\\nimagination the moan of the whip-poor-will*\\nfrom the hillside the boding cry of the tree-\\ntoad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary\\nhooting of the screech-owl, or the sudden rust-\\nling in the thicket of birds frightened from\\ntheir roost. The fire-flies, too, which sparkled\\n*The whip-poor-will is a bird which is only heard at\\nnight. It receives its name from its note, which is\\nthought to resemble those words.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0499.jp2"}, "500": {"fulltext": "486 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nmost vividly in the darkest places, now and\\nthen startled him as one of uncommon bright-\\nness would stream across his path and if, by\\nchance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came\\nwinging his blundering flight against him, the\\npoor varlet was ready to give up the ghost,\\nwith the idea that he was struck with a witch s\\ntoken. His only resource on such occasions,\\neither to drown thought or drive away evil\\nspirits, was to sing psalm tunes and the good\\npeople of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by. their\\ndoors of an evening, were often filled with\\nawe at hearing his nasal melody, in linked\\nsweetness long drawn out, floating from the\\ndistant hill or along the dusky road.\\nAnother of his sources of fearful pleasure\\nwas to pass long winter evenings with the old\\nDutch wives as they sat spinning by the fire,\\nwith a row of apples roasting and spluttering\\nalong the hearth, and listen to their marvelous\\ntales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields,\\nand haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and\\nhaunted houses, and particularly of the head-\\nless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the\\nHollow, as they sometimes called him. He\\nwould delight them equally by his anecdotes\\nof witchcraft and of the direful omens and por-\\ntentous sighs and sounds in the air which pre-\\nvailed in the earlier times of Connecticut, and\\nwould frighten them woefully with specula-\\ntions upon comets and shooting stars, and with\\nthe alarming fact that the world did absolutely\\nturn round and that they were half the time\\ntopsy-turvy.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0500.jp2"}, "501": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 487\\nBut if there was a pleasure in all this while\\nsnugly cuddling in the chimney-corner of a\\nchamber that was all of a ruddy glow from the\\ncrackling wood-fire, and where, of course, no\\nspectre dared to show its face, it was dearly\\npurchased by the terrors of his subsequent\\nwalk homewards. What fearful shapes and\\nshadows beset his path amidst the dim and\\nghastly glare of a snowy night! With what\\nwistful look did he eye every trembling ray of\\nlight streaming across the waste fields from\\nsome distant window! How often was he\\nappalled by some shrub covered with snow,\\nwhich, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very\\npath How often did he shrink with curdling\\nawe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty\\ncrust beneath his feet, and dread to look over\\nhis shoulder, lest he should behold some un-\\ncouth being tramping close behind him And\\nhow often was he thrown into complete dismay\\nby some rushing blast howling among the trees,\\nin the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian\\non one of his nightly scourings\\nAll these, however, were mere terrors of the\\nnight, phantoms of the mind that walk in dark-\\nness; and though he had seen many spectres\\nin his time, and been more than once beset by\\nSatan in divers shapes in his lonely perambu-\\nlations, yet daylight put an end to all these\\nevils; and he would have passed a pleasant\\nlife of it, in despite of the devil and all his\\nworks, if his path had not been crossed by a\\nbeing that causes more perplexity to mortal\\nman than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0501.jp2"}, "502": {"fulltext": "488 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nof witches put together, and that was a\\nwoman.\\nAmong the musical disciples who assembled\\none evening in each week to receive his in-\\nstructions in psalmody was Katrina Van Tas-\\nsel, the daughter and only child of a substan-\\ntial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass\\nof fresh eighteen, plump as a partridge, ripe\\nand melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her\\nfather s peaches, and universally famed, not\\nmerely for her beauty, but her vast expecta-\\ntions. She was withal a little of a coquette, as\\nmight be perceived even in her dress, which\\nwas a mixture of ancient and modern fash-\\nions, as most suited to set off her charms. She\\nwore the ornaments of pure yellow gold which\\nher great-great-grandmother had brought over\\nfrom Saardam, the tempting stomacher of the\\nolden time; and withal a provokingly short\\npetticoat to display the prettiest foot and ankle\\nin the country round.\\nIchabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart\\ntowards the sex, and it is not to be wondered\\nat that so tempting a rnorsel soon found favor\\nin his eyes more especially after he had visited\\nher in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van\\nTassel was a perfect pictare of a thriving, con-\\ntented, liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it\\nis true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts\\nbeyond the boundaries of his own farm, but\\nwithin those everything was snug, happy and\\nwell-conditioned. He was satisfied with his\\nwealth, but not proud of it, and piqued himself\\nupon the hearty abundance, rather than the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0502.jp2"}, "503": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 489\\nStyle, in which he lived. His stronghold was\\nsituated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of\\nthose green, sheltered, fertile nooks in which\\nthe Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A\\ngreat eln; tree spread its broad branches over\\nit, at the foot of which bubbled up a spring of\\nthe softest and sweetest water in a little well\\nformed of a barrel, and then stole sparkling\\naway through the grass to a neighboring brook\\nthat bubbled long among alders and dwarf\\nwillows. Hard by the farmhouse was a vast\\nbarn, that might have served for a church,\\nevery window and crevice of which seemed\\nbursting forth with the treasures of the farm\\nthe flail was busily resounding within it from\\nmorning to night; swallows and martins\\nskimmed twittering about the eaves; and rows\\nof pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if\\nwatching the weather, some with their heads\\nunder their wings or buried in their bosoms,\\nand others, swelling, and cooing, and bowing\\nabout their dames, were enjoying the sunshine\\non the roof. Sleek, unwieldy porkers were\\ngrunting in the repose and abundance of their\\npens, whence sallied forth, now and then,\\ntroops of sucking pigs as if to snuff the air. A\\nstately squadron of snowy geese were riding in\\nan adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of\\nducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling\\nthrough the farmyard, and guinea-fowls fret-\\nting about it, like ill-tempered housewives,\\nwith their peevish, discontented cry. Before\\nthe barn-door strutted the gallant cock, that\\npattern of a husband, a warrior, and a fine\\n32 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0503.jp2"}, "504": {"fulltext": "490 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ngentleman, clapping his burnished wings and\\ncrowing in the pride and gladness of his heart\\nsometimes tearing tip the earth with his feet,\\nand then generously calling his ever- hungry\\nfamily of wives and children to enjoy the rich\\nmorsel which he had discovered.\\nThe pedagogue s mouth watered as he looked\\nupon his sumptuous promise of luxurious win-\\nter fare. In his devouring mind s eye he pic-\\ntured to himself every roasting-pig running\\nabout with a pudding in his belly and an apple\\nin his mouth the pigeons were snugly put to\\nbed in a comfortable pie and tucked in with a\\ncoverlet of crust the geese were swimming in\\ntheir own gravy and the ducks pairing cosily\\nin dishes, like snug married couples, with a\\ndecent competency of onion sauce. In the\\nporkers he saw carved out the future sleek side\\nof bacon and juicy relishing ham not a turkey\\nbut he beheld daintily trussed up, with its giz-\\nzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a\\nnecklace of savory sausages; and even bright\\nChanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back\\nin a side-dish, with uplifted claws, as if crav-\\ning that quarter which his chivalrous spirit dis-\\ndained to ask while living.\\nAs the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this,\\nand as he rolled his great green eyes over the\\nfat meadow-lands, the rich fields of wheat, of\\nrye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, which sur-\\nrotmded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his\\nheart yearned after the damsel who was to in-\\nherit these domains, and his imagination ex-\\npanded with the idea how they might be read-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0504.jp2"}, "505": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 491\\nily turned into cash and the money invested in\\nimmense tracts of wild land and shingle pal-\\naces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy\\nalready realized his hopes, and presented to\\nhim the blooming Katrina, with a whole fam-\\nily of children, mounted on the top of a wagon\\nloaded with household trumpery, with pots and\\nkettles dangling beneath, and he beheld him-\\nself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at\\nher heels, setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee,\\nor the Lord knows where.\\nWhen he entered the house the conquest of\\nhis heart was complete. It was one of those\\nspacious farmhouses with high-ridged but\\nlowly-sloping roofs, built in the style handed\\ndown from the first Dutch settlers, the low\\nprojecting eaves forming a piazza along the\\nfront capable of being closed up in bad\\nweather. Under this were hung flails, har-\\nness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets\\nfor fishing in the neighboring river. Benches\\nwere built along the sides for summer use,\\nand^ a great spinning-wheel at one end and a\\nchurn at the other showed the various uses to\\nwhich this important porch might be devoted.\\nFrom this piazza the wondering Ichabod en-\\ntered the hall, which formed the centre of the\\nmansion and the place of usual residence.\\nHere rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a\\nlong dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner\\nstood a huge bag of wool ready to be spun in\\nanother a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from\\nthe loom ears of Indian corn and strings of\\ndried apples and peaches hung in gay festoons", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0505.jp2"}, "506": {"fulltext": "492 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nalong the walls, mingled with the gaud of red\\npeppers; and a door left ajar gave him a peep\\ninto the best parlor, where the claw-footed\\nchairs and dark mahogany tables shone like\\nmirrors andirons, with their accompanying\\nshovel and tongs, glistened from their covert\\nof asparagus tops; mock-oranges and conch-\\nshells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of\\nvarious- colored birds eggs were suspended\\nabove it; a great ostrich egg was hung from\\nthe centre of the room, and a corner cupboard,\\nknowingly left open, displayed immense\\ntreasures of old silver and well -mended china.\\nFrom the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon\\nthese regions of delight the peace of his mind\\nwas at an end, and his only study was how to\\ngain the affections of the peerless daughter of\\nVan Tassel. In this enterprise, however, he\\nhad more real difficulties than generally fell to\\nthe lot of a knight-errant of yore, who seldom\\nhad anything but giants, enchanters, fiery\\ndragons, and such-like easily-conquered adver-\\nsaries to contend with, and had to make his\\nway merely through gates of iron and brass\\nand walls of adamant to the castle keep, where\\nthe lady of his heart was confined all which\\nhe achieved as easily as a man would carve his\\nway to the centre of a Christmas pie, and then\\nthe lady gave him her hand as a matter of\\ncourse. Ichabod, on the contrary, had to win\\nhis way to the heart of a country coquette be-\\nset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices,\\nwhich were forever presenting new difficulties\\nand impediments, and he had to encounter a", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0506.jp2"}, "507": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 493\\nhost of fearful adversaries of real flesh and\\nblood the numerous rustic admirers who beset\\nevery portal to her heart, keeping a watchful\\nand angry eye upon each other, but ready to\\nfly out in the common cause against any new\\ncompetitor.\\nAmong these the most formidable was a\\nburly, roaring, roistering blade of the name of\\nAbraham or, according to the Dutch abbre-\\nviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the\\ncountry round, which rang with his feats of\\nstrength and hardihood. He was broad-shoul-\\ndered and double-jointed, with short curly\\nblack hair and a bluff but not unpleasant coun-\\ntenance, having a mingled air of fun and arro-\\ngance. From his Herculean frame and great\\npowers of limb, he had received the nickname\\nof Brom Bones, by which he was universally\\nknown. He was famed for great knowledge\\nand skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous\\non horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at\\nall races and cock-fights, and, with the ascend-\\nancy which bodily strength acquires in rustic\\nlife, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his\\nhat on one side and giving his decisions with\\nan air and tone admitting of no gainsay or\\nappeal. He was always ready for either a\\nfight or a frolic, but had more mischief than\\nill-will in his composition; and with all his\\noverbearing roughness there was a strong dash\\nof waggish good-humor at bottom. He had\\nthree or four boon companions who regarded\\nhim as their model, and at the head of whom\\nhe scoured the country, attending every scene", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0507.jp2"}, "508": {"fulltext": "494 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nof feud or merriment for miles around. In\\ncold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap\\nsurmounted with a flaunting fox s tail; and\\nwhen the folks at a country gathering descried\\nthis well-known crest at a distance, whisking\\nabout among a squad of hard riders, they al-\\nways stood by for a squall. Sometimes his\\ncrew would be heard dashing along past the\\nfarm-houses at midnight with whoop and hal-\\nloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks, and the old\\ndames, startled out of their sleep, would listen\\nfor a moment till the hurry-scurry had clat-\\ntered by, and then exclaim, Ay, there goes\\nBrom Bones and his gang! The neighbors\\nlooked upon him with a mixture of awe, ad-\\nmiration and good-will, and when any madcap\\nprank or rustic brawl occurred in the vicinity\\nalways shook their heads and warranted Brom\\nBones was at the botom of it.\\nThis rantipole hero had for some time sin-\\ngled out the blooming Katrina for the object\\nof his uncouth gallantries, and, though his am-\\norous toyings were something like the gentle\\ncaresses and endearments of a bear, yet it was\\nwhispered that she did not altogether discour-\\nage his hopes. Certain it is, his advances were\\nsignals for rival candidates to retire who felt\\nno inclination to cross a line in his amours; in-\\nsomuch, that when his horse was seen tied to\\nVan Tassel s paling on a Sunday night, a sure\\nsign that his master was courting or, as it is\\ntermed, sparking within, all other suitors\\npassed by in despair and carried the war into\\nother quarters.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0508.jp2"}, "509": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 495\\nSuch was the formidable rival with whom\\nIchabod Crane had to contend, and, consider-\\ning all things, a stouter man than he would\\nhave shrunk from the competition and a wiser\\nman would have despaired. He had, however,\\na happy*mixture of pliability and perseverance\\nin his nature he was in form and spirit like a\\nsupple jack yielding, but tough; though he\\nbent, he never broke and though he bowed\\nbeneath the slightest pressure, yet the mo-\\nment it was away, jerk he was as erect and\\ncarried his head as high as ever.\\nTo have taken the field openly against his\\nrival would have been madness; for he was\\nnot a man to be thwarted in his amours, any\\nmore than that stormy lover, Achilles. Icha-\\nbod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet\\nand gently-insinuating manner. Under cover\\nof his character of singing-master he made fre-\\nquent visits at the farm-house not that he had\\nanything to apprehend from the meddlesome\\ninterference of parents, which is so often a\\nstumbling-block in the path of lovers. Bait\\nVan Tassel was an easy, indulgent soul; he\\nloved his daughter better even than his pipe,\\nand, like a reasonable man and an excellent\\nfather, let her have her way in everything.\\nHis notable little wife, too, had enough to do\\nto attend to her housekeeping and manage her\\npoultry; for, as she sagely observed, ducks\\nand geese are foolish things and must be looked\\nafter, but girls can take care of themselves.\\nThus while the busy dame bustled about the\\nhouse or plied her spinning-wheel at one end", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0509.jp2"}, "510": {"fulltext": "496 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nof the piazza, honest Bait would sit smoking\\nhis evening pipe at the other, watching the\\nachievements of a little wooden warrior who,\\narmed with a sword in each hand, was most\\nvaliantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle of\\nthe barn. In the meantime, Ichabdd would\\ncarry on his suit with the daughter by the side\\nof the spring under the great elm or saunter-\\ning along in the twilight, that hour so favorable\\nto the lover s eloquence.\\nI profess not to know how women s hearts\\nare wooed and won. To me they have always\\nbeen matters of riddle and admiration. Some\\nseem to have but one vulnerable point or door\\nof access, while others have a thousand avenues\\nand may be captured in a thousand different\\nways. It is a great triumph of skill to gain\\nthe former, but a still greater proof of gener-\\nalship to maintain possession of the latter, for\\na man must battle for his fortress at every door\\nand window. He who wins a thousand com-\\nmon hearts is, therefore, entitled to some re-\\nnown, but he who keeps undisputed sway over\\nthe heart of a coquette is, indeed, a hero. Cer-\\ntain it is, this was not the case with the re-\\ndoubtable Brom Bones; and from the moment\\nIchabod Crane made his advances the interests\\nof the former evidently declined; his horse\\nwas no longer seen tied at the paling on Sun-\\nday nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose\\nbetween him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hol-\\nlow.\\nBrom, who had a degree of rough chivalry\\nin his nature, w^ould fain have carried matters", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0510.jp2"}, "511": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 497\\nto open warfare, and have settled their preten-\\nsions to the lady according to the mode of\\nthose most concise and simple reasoners, the\\nknights-errant of yore by single combat but\\nIchabod was too conscious of the superior\\nmight of his adversary to enter the lists\\nagainst him he had overheard a boast of\\nBones, that he would double the schoolmaster\\nup and lay him on a shelf of his own school-\\nhouse; and he was too wary to give him an\\nopportunity. There was something extremely\\nprovoking in this obstinately pacific system; it\\nleft Brom no alternative but to draw upon the\\nfunds of rustic wagger)^ in his disposition and\\nto play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival.\\nIchabod became the object of whimsical perse-\\ncution to Bones and his gang of rough riders.\\nThey harried his hitherto peaceful domains;\\nsmoked out his singing school by stopping up\\nthe chimney; broke into the school-house at\\nnight, in spite of its formidable fastenings of\\nwithe and window stakes, and. turned every-\\nthing topsy-turvy so that the poor schoolmas-\\nter began to think all the witches in the coun-\\ntry held their meetings there. But, what was\\nstill more annoying, Brom took all opportuni-\\nties of turning him into ridicule in presence of\\nhis mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he\\ntaught to whine in the most ludicrous manner,\\nand introduced as a rival of Ichabod s to in-\\nstruct her in psalmody.\\nIn this way matters went on for some time\\nwithout producing any material effect on the\\nrelative situation of the contending powers. On\\n32", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0511.jp2"}, "512": {"fulltext": "498 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\na fine autumnal afternoon Ichabod, in pensive\\nmood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool whence\\nhe usually watched all the concerns of his little\\nliterary realm. In his hand he swayed a fer-\\nule, that sceptre of despotic power the birch\\nof justice reposed on three nails behind the\\nthrone, a constant terror to evildoers while on\\nthe desk before him might be seen sundry con-\\ntraband articles and prohibited weapons de-\\ntected upon the persons of idle urchins, such\\nas half-munched apples, popguns, whirligigs,\\nfly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little\\npaper game-cocks. Apparently there had\\nbeen some appalling act of justice recently in-\\nflicted, for his scholars were all busily intent\\nupon their books or slyly whispering behind\\nthem with one eye kept upon the master, and\\na kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout\\nthe school-room. It was suddenly interrupted\\nby the appearance of a negro in tow-cloth\\njacket and trousers, a round- crowned fragment\\nof a hat like the cap of Mercury, and mounted\\non the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt,\\nwhich he managed with a rope by way of hal-\\nter. He came clattering up to the school door\\nwith an invitation to Ichabod to attend a mer-\\nry-making or quilting frolic to be held that\\nevening at Mynheer Van Tassel s; and, hav-\\ning delivered his message with that air of im-\\nportance and effort at fine language which a\\nnegro is apt to display on petty embassies of\\nthe kind, he dashed over the brook, and was\\nseen scampering away up the hollow, full of\\nthe importance and hurry of his mission.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0512.jp2"}, "513": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 499\\nAll was now bustle and hubbub in the late\\nquiet school-room. The scholars were hurried\\nthrough their lessons without stopping at tri-\\nfles those who were nimble skipped over half\\nwith impunity, and those who were tardy had\\na smart application now and then in the rear\\nto quicken their speed or help them over a tall\\nword. Books were flung aside without being\\nput away on the shelves, inkstands were over-\\nturned, benches thrown down, and the whole\\nschool was turned loose an hour before the\\nusual time, bursting forth like a legion of\\nyoung imps, yelping and racketing about the\\ngreen in joy at their early emancipation.\\nThe gallant Ichabod now spent at least an\\nextra half hour at his toilet, brushing and fur-\\nbishing up his best, and, indeed, only, suit of\\nrusty black, and arranging his locks by a bit\\nof broken looking-glass that hung up in the\\nschool house. That he might make his appear-\\nance before his mistress in the true style of a\\ncavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer\\nwith whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old\\nDutchman of the name of Hans Van Ripper,\\nand, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like\\na knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it\\nis meet I should, in the true spirit of romantic\\nstory, give some account of the looks and\\nequipments of my hero and his steed. The\\nanimal he bestrode was a broken-down plough-\\nborse that had outlived almost everything but\\nhis viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged,\\nwith a ewe neck and a head like a hammer;\\nhis rusty mane and tail were tangled and knot-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0513.jp2"}, "514": {"fulltext": "500 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nted with burrs one eye had lost its pupil and\\nwas glaring and spectral, but the other had\\nthe gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still, he\\nmust have had fire and mettle in his day, if we\\nmay judge from the name he bore of Gunpow-\\nder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of\\nhis master s, the choleric Van Ripper, who was\\na furious rider, and had infused, very prob-\\nably, some of his own spirit into the animal\\nfor, old and broken down as he looked, there\\nwas more of the lurking devil in him than in\\nany young filly in the country.\\nIchabod was a suitable figure for such a\\nsteed. He rode with short stirrups, which\\nbrought his knees nearly up. to the pommel of\\nthe saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like\\ngrass-hoppers he carried his whip perpendic-\\nularly in his hand like a sceptre; and as his\\nhorse jogged on the motion of his arms was not\\nunlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A small\\nwool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so\\nhis scanty strip of forehead might be called,\\nand the skirts of his black coat fluttered out\\nalmost to his horse s tail. Such was the\\nappearance of Ichabod and his steed as they\\nshambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper,\\nand it was altogether such an apparition as is\\nseldom to be met with in broad daylight.\\nIt was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day,\\nthe sky was clear and serene, and Nature wore\\nthat rich and golden livery which we always\\nassociate with the idea of abundance. The\\nforests had put on their sober brown and yel-\\nlow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0514.jp2"}, "515": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 501\\nbeen nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of\\norange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files\\nof wild-ducks began to make their appearance\\nhigh in the air the bark of the squirrel might\\nbe heard from the groves of beech and hickory\\nnuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at\\nintervals from the neighboring stubble-field.\\nThe small birds were taking their farewell\\nbanquets. In the fulness of their revelry they\\nfluttered, chirping and frolicking, from bush\\nto bush and tree to tree, capricious from the\\nvery profusion and variety around them.\\nThere was the honest cock robin, the favorite\\ngame of stripling sportsmen, with its loud\\nquerulous note and the twittering black-birds,\\nflying in sable clouds; and the golden- winged\\nwoodpecker, with liis crimson crest, his broad\\nblack gorget, and splendid plumage and the\\ncedar-bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-\\ntipt tail and its little monteiro cap of feathers\\nand the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his\\ngay light-blue coat and white under-clothes,\\nscreaming and chattering, bobbing and nod-\\nding and bowing, and pretending to be on good\\nterms with every songster of the grove.\\nAs Ichabod jogged slowly on his way his\\neye, ever open to every symptom of culinary\\nabundance, ranged with delight over the treas-\\nures of jolly Autumn. On all sides he beheld\\nvast store of apples some hanging in oppres-\\nsive opulence on the trees, some gathered into\\nbaskets and barrels for the market, others\\nheaped up in rich piles for the cider-press.\\nFarther on he beheld great fields of Indian", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0515.jp2"}, "516": {"fulltext": "502 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ncorn, with its golden ears peeping from their\\nleafy coverts and holding out the promise of\\ncakes and hasty pudding and the yellow pump-\\nkins lying beneath them, turning up their\\nfair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample\\nprospects of the most luxurious of pies and\\nanon he passed the fragrant buckwheat-fields,\\nbreathing the odor of the bee-hive, and as he\\nbeheld them soft anticipations stole over his\\nmind of dainty slapjacks, well buttered and\\ngarnished with honey or treacle by the delicate\\nlittle dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel.\\nThus feeding his mind with many sweet\\nthoughts and sugared suppositions, he jour-\\nneyed along the sides of a range of hills which\\nlooked out upon some of the goodliest scenes of\\nthe mighty Hudson. The sun gradually\\nwheeled his broad disk down into the west.\\nThe wide bosom of the Tappan Zee lay motion-\\nless and glassy, excepting that here and there\\na gentle undulation waved and prolonged the\\nblue shadow of the distant mountain. A few\\namber clouds floated in the sky, without a\\nbreath of air to move them. The horizon was\\nof a fine golden tint, changing gradually into\\na pure apple green, and from that into the deep\\nblue of the mid-heaven. A slanting ray lin-\\ngered on the woody crests of the precipices\\nthat overhung some parts of the river, giving\\ngreater depth to the dark-gray and purple of\\ntheir rocky sides. A sloop was loitering in the\\ndistance, dropping slowly down with the tide,\\nher sail hanging uselessly against the mast,\\nand as the reflection of the sky gleamed along", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0516.jp2"}, "517": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 503\\nthe still water it seemed as if the vessel was\\nsuspended in the air.\\nIt was toward evening that Ichabod arrived\\nat the castle of the Heer Van Tassel, which he\\nfound thronged with the pride and flower of\\nthe adjacent country old farmers, a spare\\nleathern-faced race, in homespun coats and\\nbreeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and mag-\\nnificent pewter buckles; their brisk withered\\nlittle dames, in close crimped caps, long-waisted\\nshortgowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors\\nand pincushions and gay calico pockets hang-\\ning on the outside; buxom lasses, almost as\\nantiquated as their mothers, excepting where\\na straw hat, a fine ribbon, or perhaps a white\\nfrock, gave symptoms of city innovation the\\nsons, in short square-skirted coats with rows\\nof stupendous brass buttons, and their hair\\ngenerally queued in the fashion of the times,\\nespecially if they could procure an eel-skin for\\nthe purpose, it being esteemed throughout the\\ncountry as a potent nourisher and strengthener\\nof the hair.\\nBrom Bones, however, was the hero of the\\nscene, having come to the gathering on his\\nfavorite steed Daredevil a creature, like\\nhimself full of metal and mischief, and which\\nno one but himself could manage. He was,\\nin fact, noted for preferring vicious animals,\\ngiven to all kinds of tricks, which kept the\\nrider in constant risk of his neck, for he held\\na tractable, well-broken horse as unworthy of\\na lad of spirit.\\nFain would I pause to dwell upon the world", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0517.jp2"}, "518": {"fulltext": "504 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nof charms that burst upon the enraptured gaze\\nof my hero as he entered the state parlor of\\nVan Tassel s mansion. Not those of the bevy\\nof buxom lasses with their luxurious display of\\nred and white, but the ample charms of a gen-\\nuine Dutch country tea-table in the sumptuous\\ntime of autumn. Such heaped-up platters of\\ncakes of various and almost indescribable kinds,\\nknown only to experienced Dutch housewives\\nThere was the doughty doughnut, the tenderer\\noily koek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller;\\nsweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and\\nhoney cakes and the whole family of cakes.\\nAnd then there were apple pies and peach pies\\nand pumpkin pies; besides slices of ham and\\nsmoked beef; and moreover delectable dishes\\nof preserved plums and peaches and pears and\\nquinces; not to mention broiled shad and\\nroasted chickens together with bowls of milk\\nand cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledly,\\npretty much as I have enumerated them, with\\nthe motherly tea-pot sending up its clouds of\\nvapor from the midst. Heaven bless the\\nmark! I want breath and time to discuss this\\nbanquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get\\non with my story. Happily, Ichabod Crane\\nwas not in so great a hurry as his historian, but\\ndid ample justice to every dainty.\\nHe was a kind and thankful creature, whose\\nheart dilated in proportion as his skin was\\nfilled with good cheer, and whose spirits rose\\nwith eating as some men s do with drink. He\\ncould not help, too, rolling his large eyes round\\nhim as he ate, and chuckling with the possi-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0518.jp2"}, "519": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 505\\nbility that he might one day be lord of all this\\nscene of almost unimaginable luxury and\\nsplendor. Then, he thought, how soon he d\\nturn his back upon the old school-house, snap\\nhis fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper and\\nevery other niggardly patron, and kick any\\nitinerant pedagogue out of doors that should\\ndare to call him comrade\\nOld Baltus Van Tassel moved about among\\nhis guests with a face dilated with content and\\ngood-humor, round and jolly as the harvest\\nmoon. His hospitable attentions were brief,\\nbut expressive, being confined to a shake of\\nthe hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh,\\nand a pressing invitation to fall to and help\\nthemselves.\\nAnd now the sound of the music from the\\ncommon room, or hall, summoned to the dance.\\nThe musician was an old gray-headed negro\\nwho had been the itinerant orchestra of the\\nneighborhood for more than half a century.\\nHis instrument was as old and battered as him-\\nself. The greater part of the time he scraped\\non two or three strings, accompanying every\\nmovement of the bow with a motion of the\\nhead, bowing almost to the ground and stamp-\\ning with his foot whenever a fresh couple were\\nto start.\\nIchabod prided himself upon his dancing as\\nmuch as upon his vocal powers. Not a limb,\\nnot a fibre about him was idle and to have\\nseen his loosely hung frame in full motion and\\nclattering about the room you would have\\nthought Saint Vitus himself, that blessed", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0519.jp2"}, "520": {"fulltext": "506 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\npatron of the dance, was figuring before you\\nin person. He was the admiration of all the\\nnegroes, who, having gathered, of all ages and\\nsizes, from the farm and the neighborhood,\\nstood forming a pyramid of shining black faces\\nat every door and window, gazing with delight\\nat the scene, rolling their white eyeballs, and\\nshowing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear.\\nHow could the flogger of urchins be other-\\nwise than animated and joyous? The lady of\\nhis heart was his partner in the dance, and\\nsmiling graciously in reply to all his amorous\\noglings, while Brom Bones, sorely smitten\\nwith love and jealously, sat brooding by him-\\nself in one corner.\\nWhen the dance was at an end Ichabod was\\nattracted to a knot of the sager folks, who,\\nwith old Van Tassel, sat smoking at one end of\\nthe piazza gossiping over former times and\\ndrawing out long stories about the war.\\nThis neighborhood, at the time of which I\\nam speaking, was one of those highly favored\\nplaces which abound with chronicle and great\\nmen. The British and American line had run\\nnear it during the war; it had therefore been\\nthe scene of marauding and infested with\\nrefugees, cow-boys, and all kinds of border\\nchivalry. Just sufficient time had elapsed to\\nenable each story-teller to dress up his tale\\nwith a little becoming fiction, and in the indis-\\ntinctness of his recollection to make himself the\\nhero of every exploit.\\nThere was the story of Doffue Martling, a\\nlarge blue-bearded Dutchman, who had nearly", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0520.jp2"}, "521": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 507\\ntaken a British frigate with an old iron nine-\\npounder from a mud breastwork, only that his\\ngun burst at the sixth discharge. And there\\nwas an old gentleman who shall be nameless,\\nbeing too rich a mynheer to be lightly men-\\ntioned, who, in the battle of Whiteplains, being\\nan excellent master of defence, parried a mus-\\nket-ball with a small sword, insomuch that he\\nabsolutely felt is whiz round the blade and\\nglance off at the hilt: in proof of which he was\\nready at any time to show the sword, with the\\nhilt a little bent. There were several more\\nthat had been equally great in the field, not\\none of whom but was persuaded that he had a\\nconsiderable hand in bringing the war to a\\nhappy termination.\\nBut all these were nothing to the tales of\\nghosts and apparitions that succeeded. The\\nneighborhood is rich in legendary treasures of\\nthe kind. Local tales and superstitions thrive\\nbest in these sheltered, long-settled retreats,\\nbut are trampled under foot by the shifting\\nthrong that forms the population of most of\\nour country places. Besides, there is no\\nencouragement for ghosts in most of our vil-\\nlages, for they have scarcely had time to finish\\ntheir first nap and turn themselves in their\\ngraves before their surviving friends have trav-\\neled away from the neighborhood; so that\\nwhen they turn out at night to walk their\\nrounds they have no acquaintance left to call\\nupon. This is perhaps the reason why we so\\nseldom hear of ghosts except in our long-estab-\\nlished Dutch communities.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0521.jp2"}, "522": {"fulltext": "508 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nThe immediate cause, however, of the preva-\\nlence of supernatural stories in these parts was\\ndoubtless owing to the vicinity of Sleepy Hol-\\nlow. There was a contagion in the very air that\\nblew from that haunted region; it breathed\\nforth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies\\ninfecting all the land. Several of the Sleepy\\nHollow people were present at Van Tassel s,\\nand, as usual, were doling out their wild and\\nwonderful legends. Many dismal tales were\\ntold about funeral trains and mourning cries\\nand wailings heard and seen about the great\\ntree where the unfortunate Major Andre was\\ntaken, and which stood in the neighborhood.\\nSome mention was made also of the woman in\\nwhite that haunted the dark glen at Raven\\nRock, and was often heard to shriek on winter\\nnights before a storm, having perished there\\nin the snow. The chief part of the stories,\\nhowever, turned upon the favorite spectre of\\nSleepy Hollow, the headless horseman, who\\nhad been heard several times of late patrolling\\nthe country, and, it was said, tethered his\\nhorse nighty among the graves in the church-\\nyard.\\nThe sequestered situation of this church\\nseems always to have made it a favorie haunt\\nof troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll sur-\\nrounded by locust trees and lofty elms, from\\namong which its decent whitewashed walls\\nshine modestly forth, like Christian purity\\nbeaming through the shades of retirement. A\\ngentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet\\nof water bordered by high trees, between", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0522.jp2"}, "523": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 509\\nwhich peeps may be caught at the blue hills of\\nthe Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown\\nyard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so\\nquietly, one would think that there at least the\\ndead might rest in peace. On one side of the\\nchurch extends a wide woody dell, along which\\nraves a large brook among broken rocks and\\ntrunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part\\nof the stream, not far from the church, was\\nformerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road\\nthat led to it and the bridge itself were thickly\\nshaded by overhanging trees, which cast a\\ngloom about it even in the daytime, but occa-\\nsioned a fearful darkness at night. Such was\\none of the favorite haunts of the headless horse-\\nman, and the place where he was most fre-\\nquently encountered. The tale was told of old\\nBrouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in ghosts,\\nhow he met the horseman returning from his\\nforay into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to\\nget up behind him; how they galloped over\\nbush and brake, over hill and swamp, until\\nthey reached the bridge, when the horseman\\nsuddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old\\nBrouwer into the brook, and sprang away over\\nthe tree-tops with a clap of thunder.\\nThis story was immediately matched by a\\nthrice-marvelous adventure of Brom Bones,\\nwho made light of the galloping Hessian as an\\narrant jockey. He affirmed that on returning\\none night from the neighboring village of Sing-\\nSing he had been overtaken by this midnight\\ntrooper; that he had offered to race with him\\nfor a bowl of punch, and should have won it", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0523.jp2"}, "524": {"fulltext": "510 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ntoo, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all\\nhollow, but just as they came to the church\\nbridge the Hessian bolted and vanished in a\\nflash of fire.\\nAll these tales, told in that drowsy under-\\ntone with which men talk in the dark, the\\ncfountenances of the listeners only now and then\\nreceiving a casual gleam from the glare of a\\npipe, sank deep in the mind of Ichabod, He\\nrepaid them in kind with large extracts from\\nhis invaluable author, Cotton Mather, and\\nadded many marvelous events that had taken\\nplace in his native state of Connecticut and\\nfearful sights which he had seen in his nightly\\nwalks about Sleepy Hollow.\\nThe revel now gradually broke up. The old\\nfarmers gathered together their families in\\ntheir wagons, and were heard for some time\\nrattling along the hollow roads and over the\\ndistant hills. Some of the damsels mounted on\\npillions behind their favorite swains, and their\\nlight-hearted laughter, mingling with the clat-\\nter of hoofs, echoed along the silent wood-\\nlands, sounding fainter and fainter until they\\ngradually died away, and the late scene of noise\\nand frolic was all silent and deserted. Ichabod\\nonly lingered behind, according to the custom\\nof country lovers, to have a tete-a-tete with the\\nheiress, fully convinced that he was now on\\nthe high road to success. What passed at this\\ninterview I will not pretend to say, for in fact\\nI do not know. Something, however, I fear\\nme, must have gone wrong, for he certainly\\nsallied forth, after no very great interval, with", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0524.jp2"}, "525": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 511\\nan air quite desolate and chop-fallen. Oh\\nthese women these women Could that girl\\nhave been pla5dng off any of her coquettish\\ntricks? Was her encouragement of the poor\\npedagogue all a mere sham to secure her con-\\nquest of his rival? Heaven only knows, not I\\nLet it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with\\nthe air of one who had been sacking a hen-\\nroost, rather than a fair lady s heart. Without\\nlooking to the right or left to notice the scene\\nof rural wealth on which he had so often\\ngloated, he went straight to the stable, and\\nwith several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his\\nsteed most uncourteously from the comfortable\\nquarters in which he was soundly sleeping,\\ndreaming of mountains of corn and oats and\\nwhole valleys of timothy and clover.\\nIt was the very witching time of night that\\nIchabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pur-\\nsued his travel homewards along the sides of\\nthe lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town,\\nand which he had traversed so cheerily in the\\nafternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself.\\nFar below him the Tappan Zee spread its dusky\\nand indistinct waste of waters, with here and\\nthere the tall mast of a sloop riding quietl}^ at\\nanchor under the land. In the dead hush of\\nmidnight he could even hear the barking of the\\nwatch-dog from the opposite shore of the Hud-\\nson; but it was so. vague and faint as only to\\ngive an idea of his distance from this faithful\\ncompanion of man. Now and then, too, the\\nlong-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally\\nawakened, would sound far, far off, from some", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0525.jp2"}, "526": {"fulltext": "612 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfarm-house away among the hills; but it was\\nlike a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of\\nlife occurred near him, but occasionally the\\nmelancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the\\nguttural twang of a bull-frog from a neighbor-\\ning marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably and\\nturning suddenly in his bed.\\nAll the stories of ghosts and goblins that he\\nhad heard in the afternoon now came crowd-\\ning upon his recollection. The night grew\\ndarker and darker; the stars seemed to sink\\ndeeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasion-\\nally hid them from his sight. He had never\\nfelt so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover,\\napproaching the very place where many of the\\nscenes of the ghost-stories had been laid. In\\nthe center of the road stood an enornious tulip\\ntree which towered like a giant above all the\\nother trees of the neighborhood and formed a\\nkind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled and\\nfantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordi-\\nnary trees, twisting down almost to the earth\\nand rising again into the air. It was connected\\nwith the tragical story of the unfortunate\\nAndre, who had been taken prisoner hard by,\\nand was universally known by the name of\\nMajor Andre s tree. The common people\\nregarded it with a mixture of respect and sup-\\nerstition, partl}^ out of sympath}^ for the fate\\nof its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the\\ntales of strange sights and doleful lamentations\\ntold concerning it.\\nAs Ichabod approached this fearful tree he\\nbegan to whistle: he thought his whistle was", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0526.jp2"}, "527": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 513\\nanswered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply\\nthrough the dry branches. x\\\\s he approached\\na little nearer he thought he saw something\\nwhite hanging in the midst of the tree: he\\npaused and ceased whistling, but on looking\\nmore narrowly perceived that it was a place\\nwhere the tree had been scathed by lightning\\nand the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he\\nheard a groan: his teeth chattered and his\\nknees smote against the saddle; it was but the\\nrubbing of one huge bough upon another as\\nthey were swayed about by the breeze. He\\npassed the tree in safety, but new perils lay\\nbefore him.\\nAbout two hundred yards from the tree a\\nsmall brook crossed the road and ran into a\\nmarshy and thickly-wooded glen known by the\\nname of Wiley s Swamp. A few rough logs,\\nlaid side by side, served for a bridge over this\\nstream. On that side of the road where the\\nbrook, entered the wood a group of oaks and\\nchestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines,\\nthrew a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this\\nbridge was the severest trial. It was at this\\nidentical spot that the unfortunate Andre was\\ncaptured, and under the covert of those chest-\\nnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen con-\\ncealed who surprised him. This has ever since\\nbeen considered a haunted stream, and fearful\\nare the feelings of the schoolboy who has to\\npass it alone after dark.\\nAs he approached the stream his heart began\\nto thump; he summoned up, however, all his\\nresolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks\\n33 Sketch Book", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0527.jp2"}, "528": {"fulltext": "614 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nin the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly\\nacross the bridge but instead of starting for-\\nward, the perverse old animal made a lateral\\nmovement and ran broadside against the fence.\\nIchabod, whose fears increased with the delay,\\njerked the reins on the other side and kicked\\nlustily with the contrary foot: it was all in\\nvain his steed started, it is true, but it was\\nonly to plunge to the opposite side of the road|\\ninto a thicket of brambles and alder-bushes;\\nThe schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and\\nheel upon the starving ribs of old Gunpowder,\\nwho dashed forward, snuffing and snorting, but\\ncame to a stand just by the bridge with a sud-\\ndenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawl-\\ning over his head. Just at this moment a\\nplashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught\\nthe sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark\\nshadow of the grove on the marign of the\\nbrook he beheld something huge, misshapen;^\\nblack, and towering. It stirred not, but seemed\\ngathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic\\nmonster ready to spring upon the traveler.\\nThe hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose\\nupon his head with terror. What was to be\\ndone? To turn and fly was now too late; and\\nbesides, what chance was there of escaping\\nghost or goblin, if such it was, which could\\nride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning\\nup, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded-\\nin stammering accents, **Who are you? Heii\\nreceived no reply. He repeated his demand in.\\na still more agitated voice. Still there was no j\\nanswer. Once more he cudgeled the sides of-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0528.jp2"}, "529": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 515\\nthe inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his\\neyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a\\npsalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of\\nalarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble\\nand a bound stood at once in the middle of the\\nroad. Though the night was dark and dismal,\\nyet the form of the unknown might now in\\nsome degree be ascertained. He appeared to\\nbe a horseman of large dimensions and mounted\\non a black horse of powerful frame. He made\\nno offer of molestation or sociability, but kept\\naloof on one side of the road, jogging along on\\nthe blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now\\ngot over his fright and waywardness.\\nIchabod, who had no relish for this strange\\nmidnight companion, and bethought himself\\nof the adventure of Brom Bones with the Gat*\\nloping Hessian, now quickened his steed in\\nhopes of leaving him behind. The stranger,\\nhowever, quickened his horse to an equal pace.\\nIchabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, think-\\ning to lag behind; the other did the same.\\nHis heart began to sink within him he endeav^\\nored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched\\ntongue clove to the roof of his mouth and he\\ncould not utter a stave. There was some-\\nthing in the moody and dogged silence of this\\npertinacious companion that was mysterious\\nand appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted\\nfor. On mounting a rising ground, which\\nbrought the figure of his fellow-traveler in\\nrelief against the sky, gigantic in height and\\nmuffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck\\non perceiving that he was headless! but his", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0529.jp2"}, "530": {"fulltext": "5.16 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nhorror was still more increased on observing;\\nthat the head, which should have rested on his\\nshoulders, was carried before him on the pom-\\nmel of the saddle. His terror rose to despera-\\ntion, he rained a shower of kicks and blows\\nupon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden move-\\nment to give his companion the slip but the\\nspectre started full jump with him. Away,\\nthen, they dashed through thick and thin,\\nstones flying and sparks flashing at every\\nbound. Ichabod s flimsy garments fluttered in\\nthe air as he stretched his long lank body\\naway over his horse s head in the eagerness of\\nhis flight.\\nThey had now reached the road which turns\\noff to Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who\\nseemed possessed with a demon, instead of\\nkeeping up it, made an opposite turn and\\nplunged headlong down hill to the left. This\\nroad leads through a sandy hollow shaded by\\ntrees for about a uarter of a mile, where it\\ncrosses the bridge famous in goblin story, and\\njust beyond swells the green knoll on which\\nstands the whitewashed church.\\nAs yet the panic of the steed had given his\\nunskilful rider an apparent advantage in the\\nchase but just as he had got halfway through\\nthe hollow the girths of the saddle gave away\\nand he felt it slipping from under him. He\\nseized it by the pommel and endeavored to\\nhold it firm, but in vain, and had just time to\\nsave himself by clasping old Gunpowder round\\nthe neck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and\\nhe heard it trampled under foot by his pur-", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0530.jp2"}, "531": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 517\\nsuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van\\nRipper s wrath passed across his mind, for it\\nwas his Sunday saddle but this was no time\\nfor petty fears; the goblin was hard on his\\nhaunches, and (unskilled rider that he was) he\\nhad much ado to maintain his seat, sometimes\\nslipping on one side, sometimes on another,\\nand sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his\\nhorse s back-bone with a violence that he verily\\nfeared would cleave him asunder.\\nAn opening in the trees now cheered him\\nwith the hopes that the church bridge was at\\nhand. The wavering reflection of a silver star\\nin the bosom of the brook told him that he was\\nnot mistaken. He saw the walls of the church\\ndimly glaring under the trees beyond. He\\nrecollected the place where Brbm Bones\\nghostly competitor had disappeared. If I\\ncan but reach that bridge, thought Ichabod,\\nI am safe. Just then he heard the black\\nsteed panting and blowing close behind him;\\nhe even fancied that he felt his hot breath.\\nAnother convulsive kick in the ribs, and old\\nGunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thun-\\ndered over the resounding planks; he gained\\nthe opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look\\nbehind to see if his pursuer should vanish,\\naccording to rule, in a flash of fire and brim-\\nstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in\\nhis stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his\\nhead at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge\\nthe horrible missile, but too late. It encoun-\\ntered his cranium with a tremendous crash;\\nhe was tumbled headlong into the dust, and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0531.jp2"}, "532": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nGunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin\\nrider passed by like a whirlwind.\\nThe next morning the old horse was found,\\nwithout his saddle and with the bridle under\\nhis feet, soberly cropping the grass at his mas-\\nter s gate. Ichabod did not make his appear-\\nance at breakfast; dinner- hour came, but no\\nIchabod. The boys assembled at the school-\\nhouse and strolled idly about the banks of the\\nbrook but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper\\nnow began to feel some uneasiness about the\\nfate of poor Ichabod and his saddle. An inquiry\\nwas set on foot, and after diligent investiga-\\ntion they came upon his traces. In one part\\nof the road leading to the church was found\\nthe saddle trampled in the dirt the tracks of\\nhorses hoofs, deeply dented in the road and\\nevidently at furious speed, were traced to the\\nbridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad\\npart of the brook, where the water ran deep\\nand black, was found the hat of the unfor-\\ntunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered\\npumpkin.\\nThe brook was searched, but the body of the\\nschoolmaster was not to be discovered. Hans\\nVan Ripper, as executor of his estate, exam-\\nined the bundle which contained all his worldly\\neffects. They consisted of two shirts and a\\nhalf, two stocks for the neck, a pair or two of\\nworsted stockings, an old pair of corduroy\\nsmall-clothes, a rusty razor, a book of psalm\\ntunes full of dog s ears, and a broken pitch-\\npipe. As to the books and furniture of the\\nschool-house, they belonged to the community,", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0532.jp2"}, "533": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 519\\nexcepting Cotton Mather s History of Witch-\\ncraft, a New England Almanac, and a book of\\ndreams and fortune-telling in which last was\\na sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted\\nin severar fruitless attempts to make a copy of\\nverses in honor of the heiress of Van Tassel.\\nThese magic books and the poetic scrawl were\\nforthwith consigned to the flames by Hans\\nVan Ripper, who from that time forward\\ndetermined to send his children no more to\\nschool, observing that he never knew any good\\ncome of this same reading and writing. What-\\never money the schoolmaster possessed^\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and\\nhe had received his quarter s pay but a day or r^\\ntwo before he must have had about his person\\nat the time of his disappearance.\\nThe mysterious event caused much specula-\\ntion at the church on the following Sunday.\\nKnots of gazers and gossips were collected in\\nthe church-yard, at the bridge, and at the spot\\nwhere the hat and pumpkin had been found.\\nThe stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole\\nbudget of others were called to mind, and when\\nthey had diligently considered them all, -and\\ncompared them with the symptoms of the\\npresent case, they shook their heads and came\\nto the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried\\noff by the galloping Hessian. As he was a\\nbachelor and in nobody s debt, nobody troubled\\nhis head any more about him, the school was\\nremoved to a different quarter of the hollow\\nand another pedagogue reigned in his stead.\\nIt is true an old farmer, who had been down\\nto New York on a visit several years after, and", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0533.jp2"}, "534": {"fulltext": "520 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\nfrom whom this account of the ghostly adven-\\nture was received, brought home the intelli-\\ngence that Ichabod Crane was still alive that\\nhe had left the neighborhood, partly through\\nfear of the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and\\npartly in mortification at having been suddenly\\ndismissed by the heiress-; that he had changed\\nhis quarters to a distant part of the country\\nhad kept school and studied law at the same\\ntime, had been a,dmitted to the bar, turned\\npolitician, electioneered, written for the news-\\npapers, and finally had been made a justice of\\nthe Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones too, who\\nshortly after his rival s disappearance con-\\nducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to the\\naltar,, was observed to look exceedingly know-\\ning whenever the story of Ichabod was related,\\nand always burst into a hearty laugh at the\\nmention of the pumpkin; which led some to\\nsuspect that he knew more about the matter\\nthan he chose to tell.\\nThe old country wives, however, who are\\nthe best judges of these matters, maintain to\\nthis day that Ichabod was spirited away by\\nsupernatural means; and it is a favorite story\\noften told about the neighborhood round the\\nwinter evening fire. The bridge became more\\nthan ever an object of superstitious awe, and\\nthat may be the reason why the road has been\\naltered of late years, so as to approach the\\nchurch by the border of the mill-pond. The\\nschool-house, being deserted, soon fell to\\ndecay, and was reported to be haunted by the\\nghost of the unfortunate pedagogue and the", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0534.jp2"}, "535": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 521\\nplough-boy, loitering homeward of a still sum-\\nmer evening, has often fancied his voice at a\\ndistance chanting a melancholy psalm tune\\namong the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow.\\nPOSTSCRIPT.\\nFOUND IN THE HANDWRITING OF MR. KNICKER-\\nBOCKER.\\nThe preceding tale is given almost in the\\nprecise words in which I heard it related at a\\nCorporation meeting of the ancient city of\\nManhattoes, at which were present many of its\\nsagest and most illustrious burghers. The\\nnarrator was a pleasant, shabby, gentlemanly\\nold fellow in pepper-and-salt clothes, with a\\nsadly humorous face, and one whom I strongly\\nsuspected of being poor, he made such efforts\\nto be entertaining. When his story was con-\\ncluded there was much laughter and approba-\\ntion, particularly from two or three deputy\\naldermen who had been asleep the greater part\\nof the time. There was, however, one tall,\\ndry-looking old gentleman, with beetling eye-\\nbrows, who maintained a grave and rather\\nsevere face throughout, now and then folding\\nhis arms, inclining his head, and looking down\\nupon the floor, as if turning a doubt over in\\nhis mind. He was one of your wary men, who\\nnever laugh but upon good grounds when\\nthey have reason and the law on their side.\\nWhen the mirth of the rest of the company had\\nsubsided and silence was restored, he leaned", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0535.jp2"}, "536": {"fulltext": "622 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\none arm on the elbow of his chair, and stick-\\ning the other akimbo, demanded, with a slight\\nbut exceedingly sage motion of the head and\\ncontraction of the brow, what was the moral\\nof the story and what it went to prove.\\nThe story-teller, who was just putting a\\nglass of wine to his lips as a refreshment after\\nhis toils, paused for a moment, looked at hi^J\\ninquirer with an air of infinite deference, and,\\n\\\\lowering the glass slowly to the table, ob-\\nserved that the story was intended most log-\\nically to prove\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThat there is no situation in life but Ra^ iti\u00c2\u00a7!\\nadvantages and pleasures provided we Will\\nbut take a joke as we find it;\\nThat, therefore, he that runs races witH\\ngoblin troopers is likely to have rough ridings\\nof it\\nErgo, for a country* schoolmaster to be\\nrefused the hand of a Dutch heiress is sl cef-^\\ntain step to high preferment in the state.\\nThe cautious old gentleman knit his brow\\ntenfold closer after this explanation, being\\nsorely puzzled by the ratiocination of the syl-\\nlogism, while methought the one in pepper-\\nand-salt eyed him with something of a trium-\\nphant leer. At length he observed that all t\\\\iii:\\nwas very well, but still he thought the storyst^\\nlittle on the extravagant ^there were one or\\ntwo points on which he had his doubts.\\nFaith, sir,, replied the story-teller, as to\\nthat matter, I don t believe one-half of it\\nmyself. D. K.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0536.jp2"}, "537": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 523\\nL ENVOY.*\\nGo,little booke, God send thee good passage,\\nAnd specially let this be thy prayere,\\nUnto them all that thee will read or hear,\\nWhere thou art wrong, after their help to call,\\nThee to correct in any part or all.\\nChaucer s Belle Dame sans Mercie.\\nIn concluding a second volume of the Sketch\\nBook the Author cannot but express his deep\\nsense of the indulgence with which his first has\\nbeen received, and of the liberal disposition\\nthat has been evinced to treat him with kind-\\nness as a stranger. Even the critics, whatever\\nmay be said of them by others, he has found\\nto be a singularly gentle and good-natured\\nrace; it is true that each has in turn objected\\nto some one or two articles, and that these\\nindividual exceptions, taken in the aggregate,\\nwould amount almost to a total condemnation\\nof his work; but then he has been consoled by\\nobserving that what one has particularly cen-\\nsured another has as particularly praised; and\\nthus, the encomiums being set off against the\\nobjections, he finds his work, upon the whole,\\ncommended far beyond its deserts.\\nHe is aware that he runs a risk of forfeiting\\ntnuch of this kind favor by not following the\\n*Closing the second volume of the London edition.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0537.jp2"}, "538": {"fulltext": "524 THE SKETCH BOOK.\\ncounsel that has been liberally bestowed upon\\nhim for where abundance of valuable advice\\nis given gratis it may seem a man s own fault\\nif he should go astray. He only can say in\\nhis vindication that he faithfully determined\\nfor a time to govern himself in his second\\nvolume by the opinions passed upon his first;\\nbut he was soon brought to a stand by the\\ncontrariety of excellent counsel. One kindly\\nadvised him to avoid the ludicrous; another to\\nshun the pathetic a third assured him that he\\nwas tolerable at description, but cautioned\\nhim to leave narrative alone; while a fourth\\ndeclared that he had a very pretty knack at\\nturning a story, and was really entertaining\\nwhen in a pensive mood, but was grievously\\nmistaken if he imagined himself to possess a\\nspirit of humor.\\nThus perplexed by the advice of his friends,\\nwho each in turn closed some particular path,\\nbut left him all the world beside to range in,\\nhe found that to follow all their counsels\\nwould, in fact, be to stand still. He remained\\nfor a time sadly embarrassed, when all at once\\nthe thought struck him to ramble on as he had\\nbegun that his work being miscellaneous and\\nwritten for different humors, it could not be\\nexpected that any one would be pleased witn\\nthe whole but that if it should contain some-\\nthing to suit each reader, his end would be\\ncompletely answered. Few guests sit down to\\na varied table with an equal appetite for every\\ndish. One has an elegant horror of a roasted\\npig; another holds a curry of a devil in utter", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0538.jp2"}, "539": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK. 525\\nabomination; a third cannot tolerate the\\nancient flavor of venison and wild-fowl; and a\\nfourth, of truly masculine stomach, looks with\\nsovereign contempt on those knick-knacks here\\nand there dished up for the ladies. Thus each\\narticle is condemned in its turn, and yet\\namidst this variety of appetites seldom does a\\ndish go away from the table without being\\ntasted and relished by some one or other of\\nthe guests.\\nWith these considerations he ventures to\\nserve up this second volume in the same heter-\\nogeneous way with his first; simply requesting\\nthe reader, if he should find here and there\\nsomethmg to please him, to rest assured that it\\nwas written expressly for intelligent readers\\nlike himself; but entreating him, should he\\nfind anything to dislike, to tolerate it, as one\\nof those articles which the author has been\\nobliged to write for readers of a less refined\\ntaste.\\nTo be serious The author is conscious of\\nthe numerous faults and imperfections of his\\nwork, and well aware how little he is disci-\\nplined and accomplished in the arts of author-\\nship. His deficiencies are also increased by a\\ndiffidence arising from his peculiar situation.\\nHe finds himself writing in a strange land, and\\nappearing before a public which he has been\\naccustomed from childhood to regard with the\\nhighest feelings of awe and reverence. He is\\nfull of solicitude to deserve their approbation,\\nyet finds that very solicitude continually em-\\nbarrassing his powers and depriving him of", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0539.jp2"}, "540": {"fulltext": "526 THE SKETCH BOQK.\\nthat ease and confidence which are necessary\\nto successful exertion. Still, the kindness\\nwith which he is treated encourages him to\\ngo on, hoping that in time he may acquire a\\nsteadier footing; and thus he proceeds, half\\nventuring, half shrinking, surprised at his\\nown good-fortune and wondering at his own\\ntemerity.\\nTHE END.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0540.jp2"}, "541": {"fulltext": "W. B. GONKEY COjAPHKY S FdBLICHTIONS\\nONE HUNDRED SELECTED POPULAR STANDARD BOOKS,\\nMASTERPIECES OF LITERATURE, BY THE\\nWORLD S MOST FAMOUS AUTHORS\\nPrinted From New, Perfect Plates\\nBOUND m THRSB SERIES, AS FOLLOWS:\\nTHE IVORY SERIES\\nSEE LIST OF TITLES ON NEXT PAGE\\nThree original full page illnstrations and portrait of the.\\natithor in each book. Beautifully illuminated title page. Printed\\nwith the greatest care on fine laid paper, from clear, ojjen-faced\\ntype. Bound in superb style with white vellum cloth and imported\\nfancy paper sides, artistically stamped in gold, with gold top and\\nsilk ribbon marker. Each book in neat covered box. 16mo size.\\nAn exqnisitiB series of gift books. Price, OOc.\\nTHE UNIVERSITY SERIES\\nSEE LIST OF TITLES ON NEXT PAGE\\nAn unexcelled library of standard works. Bound in a beautiful\\nand durable heavy ribbed cloth, handsomely stamped in gilt and\\ntwo colore of ink. A perfect portrait of the author and three full\\npage original illustrations in each volume. Title page in colors*\\nPrinted on fine laid paper, from new, clear type. Wrapped in neat\\ncolored printed wrappers. 16mosize. Price. 36c.\\nTHE AMARANTH SERIES\\nSEE LIST OF TITLES ON NEXT PAGE\\nThe latest, handsomest, and best selected series of standard\\nbooks at a popular price. Printed on good paper from new type,\\nand bound in strong cloth, artistically stamped with original\\ndesign in two colors of ink. Printed colored wrappers. 16mo size.\\nPrice. 25c.\\nAll of tlie above series are for sale by leading booksellers\\neverywliere. Ask for them by the name of the series, or\\nwill be sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by the publishers.\\nW. B. CONKEY COMPANY, CHICAGO\\nWORKS: Hammond, Ind.", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0541.jp2"}, "542": {"fulltext": "W. B. CONKEY COMPANY S PUBLICATIONS\\n1. Abb^ Constantin Hal6vy\\n2. Adventures of a Brownie. ..Mulock\\n3. All Aboard Optic\\n4. Alice s Adventures in Wonderland\\nCarroll\\n5. An Attic Philosopher in Paris\\nSouvestre\\n6. Autobiography of Benjamin\\nFranklin\\n7. Autocrat of the Breakfast Table\\nHolmes\\n11. Bacon s Essays Bicon\\n12. Barrack Boom Ballads. .Kipling\\n13. Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush\\nMaoiaren\\n14. Black: Beauty....... ...Sewall\\n15. Blithedale Romance. .Hawthorne\\n16. Boat Club.. Optic\\n17. Bracebridge Hall. .Irving\\n18. Brooks Addresses\\n19. Browning s Poems .Browning\\n24. Childe Harold s Pilgrimage\\nByron\\n25. Child s History of England\\nDickens\\n26. Cranf ord Gaskell\\n27. Crown of Wild Olives Ruskin\\n30. Daily Food for Christians\\n31. Departmental Ditties Kipling\\n32. Dolly Dialogues ..Hope\\n33. Dream Life Mitchell\\n34. Drummond s Addresses\\nDrummond\\n37. Emerson s Essays, Vol. 1\\nEmerson\\n88. Emerson s Essays, Vol. 2\\nEmerson\\n89. Ethics of the Dust Ruskin\\n40. Evangeline Longfellow\\n43. Flower Fables Alcott\\n46, Gold Dust Yong^\\n49. Heroes and Hero Worship, Carlyle\\n50. Hiawatha Longfellow\\n61. House of Seven Gables\\nHawthorne\\n52. House of the Wolf Weyman\\n57. Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow\\nJerome\\n58. Idylls of the King Tennyson\\n59. Imitation of Christ\\nThoe. a Kempis\\n60. in Memoriam Tennyson\\n64. John Halifax Mulock\\n67. Kept for the Master s Use\\nHavergal\\n68. Kidnapped Stevenson\\n69. King of the Golden River.. Ruskin\\n73. Laddie\\n74. Lady of the Lake Scott\\n75. Lalla Rookh Moore\\n76. Let Us Follow Him. .Sienkiewicz\\n77. Light of Asia .Arnold\\n78. Light That Failed.. ;KipliAg\\n79. Locks] ey Hall Tennyson\\n80. Longfellow s Poems\\nLongfellon\\n81. Lorna Doone. Blackmore\\n82. Lowell s Poems. .Lowel]\\n83. Lucile. .Meredith\\n88. Marmion Scott\\n89. Mosses from an Old Manse\\nHawthorne\\n93. Natural Law iii the Spiritual\\nWorld Drummond\\n94. Now or Never ..Optic\\n97. Paradise Lost Milton\\n98. Paul and Virginia\\n.Saint Pierre\\n99. Pilgrim s Progress Bunyan\\n100. Pl^iin Tales fr- ji the Hills\\nKipling\\n101. Pleasures jf Life Liibbock\\n102. Prince of the House of David\\nIngraham\\n103. Princess Tennyson\\n104. Prue and I Curtis\\n107. Queen of the Air Ruskin\\n110. Rab and His Friends. .Brown\\n111. Representative Men.. Emerson\\n112. Reveries of a Bachelor\\nMitchell\\n118. RoUo in Geneva Abbott\\n114. Rollo in Holland Abbott\\n115. Rollo in Lond\u00c2\u00aen Abbott\\n118, Rollo in Naples Abbott\\n117. Rollo in Paris Abbott\\n118. Rollo in Rome Abbott\\n119. Rollo in Scotland Abbott\\n120. Rollo in Switzerland. .Abbott\\n121. Rollo on the Atlantie.,. Abbott\\n122. Rollo on the Rhine Abbott\\n123. Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam\\nFitzgerald\\n128. Sartor Resartus Carlyle\\n129. Scarlet Letter Hawthorne\\n130 Sesame and Lilies Ruskin\\n181. Sign of the Four Doyle\\n132. Sketch Book Irving\\n133. Stickit Minister Crockett\\n140. Tales from Shakespeare\\nC. and Mary Lamb\\n141. Tanglewood Tales.. Hawthorne\\n142. True and Beautiful Ruskin\\n143. Three Men in a Boat. .Jerome\\n144. Through the Looking Glass\\nCarroll\\n145. Treasure Island Stevenson\\n14S. Twice Told Tales.. Hawthorne\\n150. Uncle Tom s Cabin Stowe\\n154. Vicar of Wakefield. .Goldsmith\\n158. Whittier s Poems Whittier\\n159. Wide, Wide World ....Warner\\n160. Window in Thrums Barrie\\n161. Wonder Book Hawthorne", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0542.jp2"}, "543": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0543.jp2"}, "544": {"fulltext": "AUG 18 1900", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0544.jp2"}, "545": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2848", "width": "1739", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0545.jp2"}, "546": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3050", "width": "1904", "jp2-path": "sketchbookofgeof17irvi_0546.jp2"}}