{"1": {"fulltext": "WansBBst\\nmm\\nHi\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0HH\\nftfl yja\\nHi\\nnH\\n.ISHHHl\\nHHBH\\nMl\\nill\\nagffwfl", "height": "3765", "width": "2723", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "iftacmiilan s pocftet American atrtr Itaflltgfj Classics\\nb\\nA Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and\\nSecondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc.\\ni6mo\\nCloth\\n25 cents each\\nAndersen s Fairy Tales.\\nArsl/ian Nights 8 Entertainments*\\nArnold s Son rah a nri-RrettrrffSTN\\nAusten s Pride and Prejudice.\\nBacon s Essays.\\nBible (Memorable Passages from).\\nBlackmore s Lorna Doone.\\nBrowning Mrs., Poems (Selected).\\nBryant s Thanatopsis, etc.\\nBulwer s Last Days of Pompeii.\\nBunyan s The Pilgrim s Progress.\\nI Burke s Speech on Conciliation.\\nBurns Poems (Selections from).\\niByron s Childe Harold s Pilgrimage.\\nByron s Shorter Poems.\\nGarlyleVEssay on Burns.\\nCarryle*s Heroes and Hero Worship.\\nCarroll s Alice s Adventures in Wonder-\\nland (Illustrated).\\nChaucer s Prologue and Knight s Tale.\\nChurch s The Story of the Iiiad.\\nChurch s The Story of the Odyssey.\\nColeridge s The Ancient Mariner.\\nCooper s The Deerslayer.\\nCooper s The Last of the Mohicans.\\nCooper s The Spy.\\nDana s Two Years Before the Mast.\\nDefoe s Robinson Crusoe.\\nDe Quincey s Confessions of an English\\nOpium- Eater.\\nDe Quincey s Joan of Arc, and The Eng-\\nlish Mail-Coach.\\nDickens A Christmas Carol, and The\\nCricket on the Hearth.\\nDickens A Tale of Two Cities.\\nBiekens- -David Ce-pperfreld.\\nDryden s Paiamon and Arcite.\\nEarly American Orations, 1760-1824.\\nEdwards (Jonathan) Sermons.\\nEliot s Silas Marner.\\nEmerson s Essays.\\nEmerson s Early Poems.\\nEmerson s Representative Men.\\nEnglish Narrative Poems.\\nEpoch-making Papers in U. S. History.\\nzaskell s Cranford.\\nGoldsmith s The Deserted Village, She\\nStoops to Conquer, and The Good-\\nnatured Man.\\nGoldsmith s The Vicar of Wakefiejd.\\nGray s Elegy, etc., anc\u00c2\u00bb Cowper S John\\nGilpin, etc.\\nGrimm s Fairy Tales.,\\nHale s The Man Without a Gowrtry.-\\nHawthorne s GrandfathersiGkai**\\nHawthorne s Mosses from an Old\\nManse.\\nHawthorne s Tanglewood Tales.\\nHawthorne s The House of the Seven\\nGables.\\nHawlhorne^Twiee*teUJEales (Selections\\nfrom).\\nHawthorne s Wonder-Eook.\\nHolmes Poems.\\nHomer s Iliad (Translated).\\nHomer s Odyssey (Translated).\\nHughes Tom Brown s School Days.\\nHuxley s Selected Essays and Addresses*\\nIrving s Knickerbocker.\\nIrving s The Alhambra.\\nIrving s Sketch Book.\\nIrving s Tales of a Traveller.\\nKeary s Heroes of Asrard.\\nKempis, a The Imitation of Christ.\\nKingsley s The Heroes.\\nLamb s The Essays of Elia.\\nLamb s Tales from Shakespeare.\\nLincoln s Addresses, Inaugurals, and\\nLetters.\\nLongfellow s Evangeline.\\nLongfellow s Hiawatha.\\nLongfellow s Miles Standish.\\nLongfellow s Miles Standish and Minor\\nPoems.\\nLongfellow s Tales of a Wayside Inn.\\nLowell s The Vision of Sir LaunfaL\\nMacaulay s Essay on Addison.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Hastings.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Lord Clive*\\nMacaulay s Essay on Milton.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "pactmilan 8 ^tktt American antr lEnglisfj Classics\\nA Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and\\nSecondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc.\\nx6mo\\nCloth\\n25 cents each\\nMacaulay ^Xayp of Angiant Renar.\\nMacaulay s Life of Samuel Johnson.\\nMalory s Le Morte d Arthur.\\nMilton s Comus and Other Poems.\\nMilton s Paradise Lost, Books I. and II.\\nOld English Ballads.\\nOld Testament (Selections from).\\nOut of the Northland.\\nPalgrave s Golden Treasury.\\nParkman s Oregon Trail.\\nPlutarch s Lives (Caesar, Brutus, and\\nMark Antony),\\nPoe s Poems.\\nPoe s Prose Tales (Selections from).\\nPoems, Narrative and Lyrical.\\nPope s Homer s Iliad.\\nPope s Homer s Odyssey.\\nPope s The Rape of the Lock.\\nRuskin s Sesame and Lilies.\\nQueen of the Air\\nSectfs-ivanhoe.\\nScotrsKen iiworth\\nScott s Lady of the Lake.\\nScott s Lay of the Last MinstreL\\nScott s Marmion.\\nScott s Quentin Durward.\\nScott s The Talisman.\\nSelect Orations.\\nSe^ct rvems, for required reading in\\nSecondary Schools.\\nSiukeLTpcirt s Tr^sti .!lv2 It.\\nS hak e sp eare^ AsY-eu-Lifc* II .(Tudo*^\\nShakespeare s Comedy of Er?oTs (Tu-\\ndor).\\nShakespeare s Coriolanus (Tudor)\\nShakespeare s Hamlet.\\nShakespeare s Henry IV, Part I (Tudor)\\nShakespeare s Henry V.\\nShakespeare s Henry VI, Part I (Tudor).\\nShakespeare s Henry VIII (Tudor).\\nShakespeare s Julius Caesar.\\nShakespeare s King Lear,\\nShakespeare s Macbeth.\\nShakespeare s Macbeth (Tudor).\\nShakespeare s A Midsummer Night s\\nDreamt\\nShakespeare s A Midsummer Night s\\nDream (Tudor).\\nShakespeare s Merchant of Venice.\\nShakespeare s Merchant of Venice (To-\\ndor).\\nShakespeare s Richard II.\\nShakespeare s Romeo and Juliet (Tudor),\\nShakespeare s The Tempest.\\nShakespeare s Troilus and Cressida (Tu\\ndor).\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0S lmtop jc ire s Twelf tlr Wfgkfer-\\nShelley and Keats Poems\\nSheridan s The Rivals and The School\\nfor Scandal.\\nSouthern Poets Selections.\\nSouthern Orators: Selections.\\nSpenser s Faerie Queene, Book I.\\n-Stevensoft- -s Kidnapped.\\nStevenson s The Master of Ballantrae.\\nStevenson s Travels with a Donkey, and\\nAn Inland Voyage.\\nStevenson s Treasure Islj3j.de*\\nSwift s Gulliver s TraveTsT\\nTennyson s Idylls of the King.\\nTennyson s In Memcriam.\\nT 1-1 1 1 1 iji i nfri Th a Tmrtwaaa nr\\nTennyson s Shorter Poems.\\nThackeray s English Humourists.\\nThackeray s Henry Esmond.\\nThoreau s Walden.\\nVirgil s ^Eneid.\\nWashington s Farewell Address, and\\nWebster s First Bunker Hill Oration.\\nWhittier s Snow-Bound and Other Early\\nPoems.\\nWoolman s Journal,\\nW^swQrtfcsJa oiter-Poesa*", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "WASHINGTON IRVING\\nAt the age of 27", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK\\nBY\\nWASHINGTON IRVING\\nWITH NOTES AND INTRODUCTION\\nNeto fgotfe\\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\\nLONDON MACMILLAN CO., Ltd.\\n1915\\nAll rights reserved", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "PSge\u00c2\u00ab\\n.hi\\nQob\\nPI\\nCopyright, 1900,\\nBy THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.\\nSet up and electrotyped October, 1900. Reprinted October\\n1901; November, 1902 March, 1903; January, August, 1904\\nFebruary, May, September, 1905; February, October, 1906;\\nFebruary, October, 1907 February, August, 1908; January,\\nAugust, 1909 January, 1910 February, October, 1911;\\nJuly, 1912 February, August, 1913; March, 1914; July, 191/;\\nFebruary, 1915.\\nEXCHANGE\\no\\nJUin 12 1944\\nSerial Record .O w v pn\\nliib LibrarKtt\\nCopy", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "w\\nCONTENTS\\nPAGE\\nIntroduction e ix\\nThe Author s Account of Himself 1\\nThe Voyage 4\\nRoscoe 11\\nThe Wife 18\\nRip Van Winkle 26\\nEnglish Writers on America 46\\nRural Life in England 55\\nThe Broken Heart 63\\nThe Art of Book-making 69\\nA Royal Poet 76\\nThe Country Church 90\\nThe Widow and her Son 96\\nA Sunday in London 104\\nThe Boar s Head Tavern, Eastcheap 106\\nThe Mutability of Literature .117\\nRural Funerals 127\\nThe Iron Kitchen 140\\nThe Spectre Bridegroom 142\\n.vii", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "vni CONTENTS\\nPAGE\\nWestminster Abbey .158\\nChristmas 174\\nThe Stage Coach 180\\nChristmas Eve 187\\nChristmas Day .198\\nThe Christmas Dinner .212\\nLondon Antiques 225\\nLittle Britain 232\\nStratford-on-Avon 246\\nTraits of Indian Character 265\\nPhilip of Pokanoket 277\\nJohn Bull 295\\nThe Pride of the Village 307\\nThe Angler e 7. v 316\\nThe Legend of Sleepy Hollow 326\\nL Envoy 361", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\nForty years ago, writes Mr. Curtis, upon a\\npleasant afternoon, you might have seen tripping\\nwith an elastic step along Broadway, in New York,\\na figure which even then would have been called\\nquaint. It was a man of about sixty-six or sixty-\\nseven years old, of a rather solid frame, wearing a\\nTalma, as a short cloak of the time was called, that\\nhung from the shoulders, and low shoes, neatly tied,\\nwhich were observable at a time when boots were gen-\\nerally worn. The head was slightly declined to one\\nside, the face was smoothly shaven, and the eyes twin-\\nJkled with kindly humor and shrewdness. There was\\na chirping, cheery, old-school air in the whole appear-\\nance, an undeniable Dutch aspect, which, in the streets\\nof New Amsterdam, irresistibly recalled Diedrich\\nKnickerbocker. The occasional start of interest\\nas the figure was recognized by some one in the pass-\\ning throng, the respectful bow, and the sudden turn\\nto scan him more closely, indicated that he was not\\nunknown. Indeed, he was the American of his time\\nuniversally known. This modest and kindly man\\nwas the creator of Diedrich Knickerbocker and Rip\\nVan Winkle. He was the father of our literature.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "X INTRODUCTION\\nand at that time its patriarch. He was Washington\\nIrving. About the same time, on the same thorough-\\nfare, one might have seen two other figures of almost\\nequal note the slight, alert, active figure of William\\nCullen Bryant, and heavier, more combative figure oi\\nJames Fenimore Cooper.\\nThe History of New York was published in 180\\nand its appearance may be taken as the beginning\\nof American literature Thanatopsis saw the light in\\n1816, and will be regarded by future students of our\\nliterature as the prelude to American poetry, its\\nfirst distinct and resonant note while the publication\\nof The Spy in 1821-22 gave the country its earliest\\nnovel of literary quality and American background.\\nIn New York, then, in the first two decades of the\\npresent century, American literature had its begin-\\nnings and so brief is the story of literary develop-\\nment in this country that all these writers are still\\nremembered by men now living. Indeed, there was\\nliving at Stratford-on-Avon last year a venerable but\\nvigorous man who remembered Irving s visit to the\\ncharming town to which his sympathetic pen was to\\nrecall the attention of ail lovers of English poetry:\\na visit which antedated the publication of The Sketch-\\nBook in 1819\\nThere had been vigorous writing in the American\\ncolonies long before the advent of what has come to be\\ncalled the Knickerbocker school but, with very few\\nexceptions, it belongs to the literature of information,\\nof theology, of politics. The literature of imagina-\\ntion, humor, and sentiment was the growth of a later", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XI\\nand more settled time. John Smith has a good\\nthough not an undisputed claim to the honor of having\\nwritten the earliest American book, The True Relation\\nof Such Occurrences and Accidents of Note as Hath Hap-\\npened in Virginia, which dates back to 1608 but the\\nvery title of the volume makes it clear that its valiant\\nauthor was as lacking in the literary sense as were the\\nNew England chroniclers and theologians, who were\\nscon to follow him with narratives of the new world\\nwhich they were settling with such vigorous audacity,\\nand with speculations concerning that other, world of\\nwhich they felt themselves, in a peculiar sense, the\\nelect heirs.\\nIn the long stretch of time, during which the colo-\\nnies were growing in strength and in the consciousness\\nof their common necessities on the borders of a great\\ncontinent, three writers appeared whose work betrays\\nthe sense of form and the instinct for style which\\nmark the true man of Letters. Jonathan Edwards,\\nBenjamin Eranklin, and John Woolman are names\\nwhich will always appear in any account of the liter-\\nary development of the American people and yet\\nnone of these men practised the art of writing for its\\nown sake, or looked at life from what may be called\\nthe literary point of view.\\nDuring the Revolutionary period two men were\\nactive with the pen who, under happier conditions,\\nmight have anticipated Bryant by three or four dec\u00c2\u00ab\\nades but the humor and wit of Erancis Hopkinson 9\\nand the sensitive lyrical temperament of Philip Ere-\\nneau, were swept into the current of passionate or", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "\u00c2\u00a3li INTRODUCTION\\nsatirical expression and lost the natural unfolding\\nwhich might have brought out their poetic rather than\\ntheir polemic qualities. The Wild Honeysuckle and\\nEutaw Springs seem to flow from deeper sources of\\ninspiration than those which fed Freneau s satirical\\npieces. Charles Brockden Brown was the first Ameri-\\ncan to adopt literature as a profession, and he must\\nalways possess a certain interest for students of our\\nliterature but Wieland, Jane Talbot, and Arthur Mer~\\nvyn are no longer read for their intrinsic value.\\nWashington Irving stands, therefore, at the begin-\\nning of American literature as Chaucer stands at the\\nbeginning of English literature and there are certain\\nobvious resemblances between the two writers, far\\nseparated as they are in genius, manner, and range of\\npower. Both were of a -very sympathetic tempera-\\nment, easily finding points of contact with widely\\ndissimilar characters and epochs both were quickly\\nresponsive to different atmospheres, and both have, in\\nits most kindly and genial form, the gift of humor.\\nIt may not be assuming too much, or pressing obvious\\nresemblances too far, to suggest that the men who\\nfirst turn the soil of a new field are likely to reap the\\nharvest of seeds which have long been sown, and\\nwhich are awaiting the insight of a sympathetic mind\\nand the touch of a sympathetic imagination. There\\nare no real breaks in the spiritual history of the race,\\nalthough there are often sharp changes of direction.\\nRaces who emigrate to a new country, bring their past\\nwith them their spiritual life is continuous and un-\\nbroken, and before they begin to speak out of the new", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION Xlli\\nconsciousness of the present, they are likely to speak\\nout of the deeper consciousness of the past. So\\nHomer carried the Greeks back to Asia, Virgil the\\nRomans back to Troy, Chaucer the English back to\\ntheir earlier history, and Irving the imagination of\\nthe new world back to its own recent beginnings, and\\nstill further back to its earlier homes in the old world.\\nIrving, like Longfellow, was attracted by his own\\ngenius to the richer life and the more picturesque\\naspects of an older civilization, and his instinct led\\nhim to attempt to equalize the intellectual conditions\\nof two widely separated continents, by translating for\\nthe new world the rich experiences of the old world.\\nBefore American literature could touch the things\\nwhich were distinctively American, it must first estab-\\nlish spiritual and artistic connection with the great\\nworld of art and life beyond the sea. Dealing for the\\nmost part with old-world themes, but in the new-world\\ntemper and spirit, Irving connects our own literature\\nwith the literature of Europe.\\nEor this particular artistic work and service he was\\nhappily placed. New York was already, at the close\\nof the Revolution, a cosmopolitan city, speaking eigh-\\nteen or twenty languages, and with a composite popu-\\nlation within the narrow limits of its island territory.\\nIt had not developed so definite a type of character\\nas Virginia and Massachusetts but, on the other hand,\\nit was not so sharply separated in feeling and taste\\nfrom the mother country. It had less strenuousness\\nof temper, and it had more ease of mood. If the tradi-\\ntion of the eighteen th-century essayists and humor", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "2UV INTRODUCTION\\nists was to be continued anywhere in the new world^\\nit could hardly have been elsewhere than on Manhattan\\nIsland. And Irving came upon the scene at a fortu-\\nnate time at the very hour when the colonial era had\\ncome to an end, and the national era had begun as the\\nresult of a harassing and wearisome struggle. There\\nwas a new nation as well as a new country, and the\\ntime was ripe for those larger interests and that fuller\\nexpression of impulse, instinct and experience, which\\nliterature conserves and conveys.\\nBorn in the city of New York on April 3, 1783, the\\nson of a well-to-do merchant who was also a stanch\\npatriot, Irving was named after the great man whose\\nresolute faith and marvellous resourcefulness had con-\\ntributed so largely to the success of the American\\narms. The future metropolis was then a little city of\\nless than twenty-five thousand inhabitants, living in\\nclose proximity to the Battery, and whose farthest\\nlimits were well below the present City Hall Park.\\nThe boy was born into a somewhat austere Calvinistic\\natmosphere but, although he was dutiful, his nature\\nwas of so rich quality and his vitality of imagination\\nand emotion was so exuberant that he speedily made\\nhis own conditions of living. That there was a touch\\nof the father s firmness in the more genial nature of\\nthe son is shown by the decisive act of the boy in\\npresenting himself, without the knowledge of his par-\\nents, at Trinity Church for confirmation in order that\\nhe might effectually protect himself from any attempt\\nto bring him into closer communion with the Calvin-\\nistic faith. The further fact that he often escaped to", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XV\\nthe theatre, which then stood in John Street, went\\nhome in time for family prayers at nine, returned\\nagain to the play, and, later, faced the perils of climb-\\ning into his own room from a back alley, shows also,\\nas Mr. Curtis says, that it is useless to try to prevent\\nbluebirds from flying in spring. The blithe creat-\\nures made to soar and sing will not be restrained.\\nThe same kind Providence that made Calvin made\\nShakespeare.\\nIrving did not take kindly to the; regular tasks of\\nschool life; was done with the business of formal\\neducation at sixteen; declined to go to college, and\\nfed himself on English literature and much dreaming\\non the piers and along shaded paths. He entered a\\nlaw office and continued to read literature and his\\ndelightful social qualities opened the doors of society\\nto him at an early age and gave him, at the same\\ntime, the gift of making friends and enjoying people.\\nIn 1804 he made his first visit to Europe, going in\\nsearch of health, but finding pleasure and intellectual\\nprofit as well. The old world was still old in those\\nleisurely days of the sailing vessel and the stage-\\ncoach, and Irving was of a temper and at an age to\\nenjoy to the full the picturesqueness of an older\\nsociety. He was a born loiterer and observer of a\\nnature which quickly adapted itself to his surround-\\nings of a geniality of temper which put him at ease\\nwith his fellows a quiet but sagacious observer, with\\na contagious Bow of humor and a gift of tender but\\nwholesome sentiment. He had the literary tempera*\\nment before he had developed the literary gift and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "Ol INTRODUCTION\\nit was from the point of view of the literary man that\\nhe looked at life. He had his convictions in religion\\nand politics, but he was never caught up by the\\npassions or questions of the hour his survey of things\\nwas too broad for partisanship, too calm for propagan-\\ndism and too much concerned with the human interest\\nin things to permit of aggressive espousal of sides or\\ncauses.\\nHe saw something of France, Italy, Holland, and\\nEngland he was keenly responsive to the beauty and\\ncharm of the old world I am a young man and in\\nParis, he wrote to a neglected correspondent he saw\\nMrs. Siddons and John Kemble, and returned to New\\nYork with restored health in 1806. The town was\\nsmall, but it contained a few congenial spirits who were\\nsoon drawn together, and whose fellowship inaugurated\\nwhat has come to be known as the Knickerbocker period\\nin New York. In this group were Washington and Peter\\nIrving, the two Kembles, Henry Ogden, Henry Bre-\\nvoort, and James K. Paulding. There was much gayety\\nof spirit in this small company of wits and good-\\nfellows there w^ere gifts of various kinds and there\\nwas immense capacity for enjoying life.\\nThe material for kindly satire and humorous deline-\\nation was at hand in the society and traditions of the\\nlittle provincial city, and the two Irvings and Paul-\\nding saw the opportunity and used it after the man-\\nner of the early eighteenth-century essayists. The\\nkindliness of Goldsmith and the urbanity of Addison\\nfound apt pupils in these critics of new-world society.\\nThe Salmagundi, a semi-monthly publication, which", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XV11\\naimed to instruct the young, inform the old, correct\\nthe town, and castigate the age/ ran through twenty\\nnumbers, and then suddenly vanished because the\\neditors had said all they wanted to say in that way.\\nThere are reminiscences of the Spectator and the\\nCitizen of the World in almost every issue of this\\ndelightfully irresponsible journal; there are traces of\\nprovincialism but there are also genuine high spirits,\\nnative humor, and the audacity of an original im-\\npulse. The form was imitative, but the matter was\\nessentially new. It was the first outbreak of high\\nspirits in a literary form in the sober, laborious, push-\\ning new world. There had been satire before, but\\nthere had been no such contagious gayety. It was in\\nstriking contrast to the sombre New England spirit,\\nwhich found expression in the words of one of its\\npoets\\nMy thoughts on awful subjects roll,\\nDamnation and the dead.\\nAnd it was in equally striking contrast with the bitter\\nirony or the indignant satire of Freneau and the writ-\\ners of the Eevolutionary period. The Salmagundi\\npapers were characteristic of the freer life of the new\\ncountry its native humor, vitality, and hopefulness.\\nThe form was old, as most literary forms are, but it\\nwas handled with the careless ease which betrays th\\nsense of possession.\\nThe touching and enduring affection of Irving for\\nMatilda Hoffman, whose death was a crushing blow to\\nhis rising hopes, followed close upon this early suc-\\ncess, and for a time completely overshadowed it but", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "XViii INTRODUCTION\\nhaving tasted the joys of self-expression, the young\\nwriter could not deny himself the exercise of a genu-\\nine productive power. In 1809 the History of New\\nYork, by Diedrich Knickerbocker, artfully preceded by\\nmysterious references to its fictitious author in the local\\npress, made its appearance and took the town by storm.\\nIt was the first American book of true literary flavor\\nand genuine literary quality, and its publication marks\\nthe beginning of American literature. The significance\\nof the book in our literary history was not evident, of\\ncourse, to the men and women into whose hands it\\ncame they were captivated by its free handling of the\\nhistory and traditions of Manhattan Island, by its con-\\ntagious humor, its audacious but good-natured satire,\\nand its flow of high spirits. I have never, wrote\\nWalter Scott, read anything so closely resembling the\\nstyle of Dean Swift as the annals of Diedrich Knicker-\\nbocker. I think, too, there are passages which indi-\\ncate that the author possesses power of a different kind,\\nand has some touches which remind me of Sterne.\\nIrving s affiliations were with Goldsmith and Addi-\\nson, however, rather than with Swift and Sterne.\\nThere was no malice in Diedrich Knickerbocker nc\\ntrace of that caustic temper which gave Swift such\\nterrible power there was broad fun there was pure\\ncomedy sometimes passing over into farce there were\\nspontaneity, free movement of imagination, abounding\\nvitality, with occasional touches of license. These\\nqualities, rather than its art or the importance of its\\nsubject-matter, make the History of New York a piece\\nof original literature.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION xix\\nThe book had one immediate result, which will long\\nkeep its memory green it created a legend. The lit-\\ntle old gentleman by the name of Diedrich Knicker-\\nbocker, who left his bill at the tavern unpaid, and\\nwas last seen in the Albany stage, has never returned,\\nbut has left behind him a tradition of priceless value\\nto a great commercial city. Like all true myths the\\ncharming creation of Irving is full of symbolism, and\\nhas given the past of the metropolis that touch of the\\nimagination which only true men of letters can impart\\nto prosaic history. For all time New York will be the\\nKnickerbocker city, and Washington Irving will re-\\nmain its representative man of letters. The book was\\nread with delight, not unmixed with the protests of\\nthose descendants of the early Dutch families who\\nlacked the sense of humor, and were unable to appre-\\nciate the charm of a humorous reproduction of the old-\\ntime life of the town which made it live in the imagi-\\nnation of a later day.\\nTwo years later Irving, who was still hesitating to\\nadept literature as a profession, became a partner in\\nhis brother s business house, and entered upon a very\\nharassing period of his life; for he had no aptitude\\nfor business, and the time was unfavorable to such\\nventures. In 1815 he went abroad in the interests of\\nthe firm, and after a few months of travel in England,\\nsettled in Liverpool and devoted himself with com-\\nmendable seriousness and fidelity to the hopeless task\\nof building up a decaying business. Fortunately the\\nstruggle was not prolonged in 1818, after an honor-\\nable record, the firm failed, the long-postponed deci", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "XX INTRODUCTION\\nsion was made, and Irving cast in his lot with thfc\\nfortunes of literatures.\\nRarely has a choice of professions been followed\\nby so rapid a disappearance of practical perplexities\\nand such continuous and enduring prosperity. The\\nSketch-Book was published in New York in the fol-\\nlowing year, and the genial, kindly, witty Geoffrey\\nCrayon was recognized as a true successor of Diedricb\\nKnickerbocker. The provincial wit had become the\\naccomplished man of the world, without parting with\\nany of his native qualities. He had caught the tone\\nof a more mature and cultivated society, but his indi-\\nviduality had suffered no loss in the process of his\\neducation as a writer. I feel great diffidence, he\\nwrote to his friend Henry Brevoort in the same year,\\nabout this reappearance in literature. I am con-\\nscious of my imperfections, and my mind has been\\nfor a long time so pressed upon and agitated by vari-\\nous cares and anxieties, that I fear it has lost much\\nof its cheerfulness and some of its activity. I have\\nattempted no lofty theme, nor sought to look wise\\nand learned, which appears to be very much the fash-\\nion among our American writers at present. I have\\npreferred addressing myself to the feelings and fancy\\nof the reader more than to his judgment. My writ-\\nings may appear, therefore, light and trifling in our\\ncountry of philosophers and politicians. But if they\\npossess merit in the class of literature to which they\\nbelong, it is all to which I aspire in the work.\\nThese words show how distinctly Irving discerned\\nhis aim as a man-of-letters and how thoroughly he", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XX3\\nlooked at life from the literary point of view. This\\nis perhaps the first clear statement in the history of\\nAmerican literature of the attitude of the literary man\\nas contrasted with that of the theologian, the publicist,\\nand the philosopher. And there are certain other\\nwords of his which disclose his feeling for the uses of\\nhis art If, however, I can by a lucky chance, in\\nthese days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow\\nof care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of\\nsadness if I can, now and then, penetrate the gather-\\ning film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent view of\\nhuman nature, and make my reader more in good-\\nhumor with his fellow-beings and himself, surely,\\nsurely I shall not then have written entirely in vain.\\nThe Sketch-Book is, all things considered, Irving s\\nmost characteristic and important work. Critics have\\nthought they found traces of imitation in it, but they\\nhave been misled by the date of its publication rather\\nthan by any derivative quality in its manner. It con-\\ntinues the tradition of the Spectator, and belongs in\\nthe same general class but it deals with fresh ma-\\nterials in a perfectly free and characteristic manner.\\nIrving s words, I have the merit of adopting a line\\nfor myself, instead of following others/ were written\\nwith that modesty and truthfulness which always\\ncharacterized him. Steele had created Isaac Bicker-\\nstaff, and Addison Sir Roger de Coverley he created\\nRip Van Winkle and Ichabod Crane. The chapters\\nin The Sketch-Book had the old-world ease, grace, and\\nurbanity but they either dealt with new-world themes\\nor they disclosed the new-world feeling and attitude", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "XXli INTRODUCTION\\nIn Hie Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip Van Winkle\\nIrving gave American literature two original creations,\\nand contributed to the culture and resources of his\\ncountry two legends of unique character and charm.\\nMoreover, in these delightful sketches he prepared\\nthe way for American fiction, and especially for the\\nshort story, by showing how local material may be\\nused for the purposes of art, and how rich what ap-\\npears to be prosaic life may become in the hands of\\nthe artist. These two sketches, so full of mellow\\nhumor, so deeply touched with the sense of human\\nfellowship, have something more than artistic signifi-\\ncance in the story of American literary development\\nthey are significant of the American temperament and\\nway of looking at life.\\nThe delightful paper on Westminster Abbey has not\\nlost its charm of tender sentiment and true feeling\\nwhile that on Stratford-on-Avon has become a classic in\\nthe birthplace of Shakespeare, has made the fortune\\nof one of the most interesting inns in England, and\\nset in motion a tide of travel to Warwickshire which\\nshows no signs of ebbing.\\nThe Sketch-Book served another purpose; it made\\nAmerica respected in England. Sydney Smith had\\nasked his famous question in the Edinburgh Review\\nonly the year before, and had declared that the Ameri-\\ncans had no native literature but Jeffrey, in the same\\nreview, was distinctly flattering in his recognition of\\nthis book from over the sea the truculent Quarterly\\npraised it Walter Scott and Byron gave it generous\\nwords and the painter Leslie wrote that Geoffrey", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XXX11\\nCrayon is the most fashionable fellow of the day.\\nIrving removed the reproach which Sydney Smith\\nhad brought against his country, and made England\\naware that Americans had begun to have a literature\\nof their own. He had also made a prominent place\\nfor himself in that literature.\\nBracebridge Hall, laden with the fragrance of the\\nold home and conveying the charm of its life to\\nEnglish-speaking people in the new world, appeared\\nin 1822 and, with TJie Sketch-Book, marked the sepa-\\nration of American from English literature, while it\\npreserved unbroken the race tradition and the con-\\ntinuity of its spiritual development. Two years later\\neverybody was reading The Tales of a Traveller, and\\nIrving had made himself not only the earliest of\\nAmerican essayists and humorists, but also the earli-\\nest American short story-writer.\\nHe began to recognize his responsibilities as a pio-\\nneer of letters in a new country, and to feel the neces-\\nsity of dealing with larger themes on a more extended\\nscale. In 1826 he began, in Madrid, his laborious\\nresearches preparatory to writing The Life of Colum-\\nbus, He remained in Spain until 1829, and the ro-\\nmantic annals and picturesque charm of the country,\\nits architecture and people, found in his sensitive\\nimagination their most successful modern interpreter.\\nThe Tales of the Alhambra and TJie Conquest of Granada\\nare steeped in the atmosphere of the later Moorish\\nhistory, and are penetrated with the pathos of a great\\nrace heroically struggling against fate. Irving had\\nthat gift of conveying the power of second sight to his", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "XXIV INTRODUCTION\\nreaders which often makes the literary man a more\\nfaithful delineator of the movement and life of a past\\ntime than the historian. The charm of these Spanish\\nchronicles is still felt by the modern reader to whom\\nSpain is familiar ground, but their value lies chiefly\\nin their recovery of the spirit of a vanished civiliza-\\ntion.\\nIn 1832 Irving returned to New York after an ab-\\nsence of seventeen years, and found himself the object\\nof an affection and admiration which, for a nature of\\nsuch shyness and modesty, was not without serious\\ntrials. New York had grown into a city of respecta-\\nble dimensions, the West was being explored and set-\\ntled, and the air was full of stir and change. Irving,\\neager to see this new country which had made such\\nstrides during his absence, made an extensive journey\\nthrough the South and West, and A Tour of the Prai-\\nries was the result of his experiences in the Pawnee\\ncountry. On his return he purchased a small farm on\\nthe Hudson River not far from Tarrytown and Sleepy\\nHollow, enlarged the Dutch cottage of stone, and\\nSunny side began to take on that air of sweet seclusion\\nand literary association which had made it one of the\\nmost beautiful homes of American Letters. Here he\\nwrote Recollections of Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey,\\nThe Legends of the Conquest of Spain, Astoria, Captain\\nBonneville, and the occasional papers which were later\\nbrought together in Wolferfs Roost.\\nIn 1842, as ambassador to Spain, he went abroad\\nfor the last time and was absent four years and a\\nhalf a serious interruption to his work on The Life", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION XX\\\\\\noj Washington, Upon his return he turned with heart-\\nfelt satisfaction to his old pursuits.\\nThe Biography of Goldsmith and Mahomet and his\\nSuccessors appeared in 1849, and the publication of\\nThe Life of Washington was completed in 1859. Irving\\nhad long planned to tell the story of the Conquest of\\nMexico had dreamed of it in boyhood, collected a great\\nmass of material relating to it, and was at work on the\\nintroductory chapters, when he learned that Prescott\\nwas intending to deal with the same subject. With\\ncharacteristic generosity the older writer surrendered\\nhis great opportunity and cast aside the results of his\\nlong and arduous work in order not to stand in the\\nway of a young and unknown historian.\\nThe closing years of Irving s life were rich in honor\\nand affection, and when death came in the late au-\\ntumn of 1859 it found him unspoiled by reputation\\nand uncorrupted by his long intimacy with the world.\\nFor, notwithstanding his shyness, Irving was on the\\nmost friendly terms with his time; and his contem-\\nporaries were quick to recognize his geniality and\\ncompanionableness. His satire had no touch of mal-\\nice, his humor left no sting. He was sound in char-\\nacter and above reproach in life a gentleman in every\\nsense of a sorely misused but quite indispensable\\nword but he was not a Puritan or a reformer. At\\nthe very beginning he identified American literature\\nwith purity of life, elevation of character, chivalrous\\nrespect for women, kindly humor and grace of manner.\\nHe had the literary gift, and the choice of his themes\\nwas a secondary matter. He was not concerned with", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "XXVI INTRODUCTION\\nproblems, nor was lie the messenger of a new truth\\nHis gifts were a sensitive temperament, a delightful\\nhumor, a vein of true sentiment, and an instinct for\\nstyle. His most characteristic and enduring work\\nwill be found in The Sketch-Book, Bracebridge Hall,\\nThe Tales of a Traveller, and The Alhambra. His\\nbiographies must not, however, be underrated; their\\nlimitations are apparent, but the portraits of Colum-\\nbus, Washington, and Goldsmith are drawn with an\\ninsight, a breadth of style, and a firmness of line which\\ngive them enduring importance as works of historical\\nand literary art. Thackeray called him u the first am-\\nbassador whom the New World of Letters sent to the\\nOld he was also the earliest custodian of the liter-\\nary tradition in this country, and the first American\\nwriter who interpreted the spirit and function of lit-\\nerature to his countrymen.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "THE SKETCH BOOK\\nTHE AUTHOR S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF\\nI am of this mind with Homer, that as the snaile that crept out oi\\nher shel was turned eftsoones into a toad, and thereby was forced to\\nmake a stoole to sit on so the traveller that stragleth from his owne\\ncountry is in a short time transformed into so monstrous a shape, that\\nhe is faine to alter his mansion with his manners, and to live where\\nhe can, not where he would. Lyly s Euphttes.\\nI was always fond of visiting new scenes, and observing\\nstrange characters and manners. Even when a mere child I\\nbegan my travels, and made many tours of discovery into\\nforeign parts and unknown regions of my native city, to the\\nfrequent alarm of my parents, and the emolument of the town\\ncrier. As I grew into boyhood, I extended the range of my\\nobservations. My holiday afternoons were spent in rambles\\nabout the surrounding country. I made myself familiar with\\nall its places famous in history or fable. I knew every spot\\nwhere a murder or robbery had been committed, or a ghost seen,\\nI visited the neighboring villages, and added greatly to my\\nstock of knowledge, by noting their habits and customs and\\nconversing with their sages and great men. I even journeyed\\none long summer s day to the summit of the most distant hill,\\nwhence I stretched my eye over many a mile of terra incog-\\nnita, and was astonished to find how vast a globe I inhabited.\\nThis rambling propensity strengthened with my years.\\nBooks of voyages and travels became my passion, and in de-\\nvouring their contents, I neglected the regular exercises of the\\nB 1", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "2 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nschool. How wistfully would I wander about the pier-heads\\nin fine weather, and watch the parting ships, bound to distant\\nclimes with what longing eyes would I gaze after their lessen-\\ning sails, and waft myself in imagination to the ends of the\\nearth\\nFurther reading and thinking, though they brought this\\nvague inclination into more reasonable bounds, only served to\\nmake it more decided. I visited various parts of my own\\ncountry; and had I been merely a lover of fine scenery, I\\nshould have felt little desire to seek elsewhere its gratification,\\nfor on no country had the charms of nature been more prod-\\nigally lavished. Her mighty lakes, like oceans of liquid\\nSilver; her mountains, with their bright aerial tints; her\\nvalleys, teeming with wild fertility her tremendous cataracts,\\nthundering in their solitudes her boundless plains, waving\\nwith spontaneous verdure her broad, deep rivers, rolling in\\nsolemn silence to the ocean; her trackless forests, where\\nvegetation puts forth all its magnificence her skies, kindling\\nwith the magic of summer clouds and glorious sunshine\\nno, never need an American look beyond his own country for\\nthe sublime and beautiful of natural scenery.\\nBut Europe held forth the charms of storied and poetical\\nassociation. There were to be seen the masterpieces of art,\\nthe refinements of highly cultivated society, the quaint\\npeculiarities of ancient and local custom. My native country\\nwas full of youthful promise Europe was rich in the accumu-\\nlated treasures of age. Her very ruins told the history of the\\ntimes gone by, and every mouldering stone was a chronicle.\\nI longed to wander over the scenes of renowned achievement\\nto tread, as it were, in the footsteps of antiquity to\\nloiter about the ruined castle to meditate on the falling\\ntower to escape, in short, from the commonplace realities of\\nthe present, and lose myself among the shadowy grandeurs of\\nthe past.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "THE AUTHOR S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF 3\\nI had, beside all this, an earnest desire to see the great men of\\nthe earth. We have, it is true, our great men in America not\\na city but has an ample share of them. I have mingled among\\nthem in my time, and been almost withered by the shade into\\nwhich they cast me for there is nothing so baleful to a small\\nman as the shade of a great one, particularly the great man of\\na city. But I was anxious to see the great men of Europe\\nfor I had read in the works of various philosophers, that all\\nanimals degenerated in America, and man among the number.\\nA great man of Europe, thought I, must therefore be as\\nsuperior to a great man of America, as a peak of the Alps to\\na highland of the Hudson and in this idea I was confirmed by\\nobserving the comparative importance and swelling magnitude\\nof many English travellers among us, who, I was assured, were\\nvery little people in their own country. I will visit this land\\nof wonders, thought I, and see the gigantic race from which\\nI am degenerated.\\nIt has been either my good or evil lot to have my roving\\npassion gratified. I have wandered through different countries\\nand witnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. I cannot\\nsay that I have studied them with the eye of a philosopher, but\\nrather with the sauntering gaze with which humble lovers of\\nthe picturesque stroll from the window of one print-shop to\\nanother caught sometimes by the delineations of beauty,\\nsometimes by the distortions of caricature, and sometimes by\\nthe loveliness of landscape. As it is the fashion for modern\\ntourists to travel pencil in hand, and bring home their port-\\nfolios filled with sketches, I am disposed to get up a few for\\nthe entertainment of my friends. When, however, I look over\\nthe hints and memorandums I have taken down for the pur-\\npose, my heart almost fails me, at finding how my idle humoi\\nhas led me aside from the great objects studied by every\\nregular traveller who would make a book. I fear I shall give\\nequal disappointment with an unlucky landscape-painter, who", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "4 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nhad travelled on the Continent, but following the bent of his\\nvagrant inclination, had sketched in nooks, and corners, and\\nby-places. His sketch book was accordingly crowded with\\ncottages, and landscapes, and obscure ruins but he had\\nneglected to paint St. Peter s, or the Coliseum, the cascade of\\nTerni, or the bay of Naples, and had not a single glacier or\\nvolcano in his whole collection.\\nTHE VOYAGE\\nShips, ships, I will descrie yon\\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?\\nOld Poem.\\nTo an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he has to make\\nis an excellent preparative. The temporary absence of worldly\\nscenes and employments produces a state of mind peculiarly fitted\\nto receive new and vivid impressions. The vast space of waters\\nthat separates the hemispheres is like a blank page in existence.\\nThere is no gradual transition by which, as in Europe, the fea-\\ntures and population of one country blend almost imperceptibly\\nwith those of another. From the moment you lose sight of the\\nland you have left, all is vacancy, until you step on the opposite\\nshore, and are launched at once into the bustle and novelties of\\nanother world.\\nIn travelling by land there is a continuity of scene, and a con-\\nnected succession of persons and incidents, that carry on the\\nstory of life, and lessen the effect of absence and separation.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "THE VOYAGE 5\\nWe drag, it is true, a lengthening chain at each remove of\\nour pilgrimage but the chain is unbroken we can trace it back\\nlink by link; and we feel that the last still grapples us to home.\\nBut a wide sea voyage severs us at once. It makes us conscious\\nof being cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life,\\nand sent adrift upon e doubtful world. ItTnterposes a gulf, not\\nmerely imaginary, but real, between us and our homes a gulf,\\nsubject to tempest, and fear, and uncertainty, rendering distance\\npalpa ble, and return precarious.\\nSuch, at least, was the case with myself. As I saw the last\\nblue line of my native land fade away like a cloud in the hori-\\nzon, it seemed as if I had closed one volume of the world and its\\nconcerns, and had time for meditation, before I opened another.\\nThat land, too, now vanishing from my view, which contained\\nall most dear to me in life what vicissitudes might occur in it\\nwhat changes might take place in me, before I should visit\\nit again Who can tell, when he sets forth to wander, whither\\nhe may be driven by the uncertain currents of existence or\\nwhen he may return or whether it may ever be his lot to re-\\nvisit the scenes of his childhood\\nI said, that at sea all is vacancy; I should correct the expres-\\nsion. To one given to day-dreaming, and fond of losing himself\\nin reveries, a sea voyage is full of subjects for meditation but\\nthen they are the wonders of the deep and of the air, and rather\\ntend to abstract the mind from worldly themes. I delighted to\\nloll over the quarter-railing or climb to the main-top, of a calm\\nday, and muse for hours together on the tranquil bosom of a\\nsummer s sea to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds just peer-\\ning above the horizon, fancy them some fairy realms, and peo-\\nple them with a creation of my own to watch the gentle\\nundulating billows rolling their silver volumes, as if to die aw T ay\\non those happy shores.\\nThere was a delicious sensation of mingled security and awe\\nwith which I looked down, from my giddy height, on the mon-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "6 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nsters of the deep at their uncouth gambols shoals of porpoises\\ntumbling about the bow of the ship the grampus, slowly lieav-\\ning his huge form above the surface; or tGe ravenous shark,\\ndarting, like a spectre, through the blue waters. My imagina-\\ntion would conjure up all that I had heard or read of the watery\\nworld beneath me of the finny herds that roam its fathomless\\nvalleys of the shapeless monsters that lurk among the very\\nfoundations of the- earth and of those wild phantasms that\\nswell the tales of fishermen and sailors.\\nSometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean,\\nwould be another theme of idle speculation. How interesting\\nthis fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the great mass of\\nexistence What a glorious monument of human invention\\nwhich has in a manner triumphed over wind and wave; has\\nbrought the ends of the world into communion has established\\nan interchange of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of\\nthe north all the luxuries of the south; has diffused the light of\\nknowledge, and the charities of cultivated life and has thus\\nbound together those scattered portions of the human race, be-\\ntween which nature seemed to have thrown an insurmountable\\nbarrier.\\nWe one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a dis-\\ntance. At sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the\\nsurrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to be the\\nmast of a ship that must have been completely wrecked for\\nthere were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the\\ncrew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their be-\\ning washed off by the waves. There was no trace by which the\\nname of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently\\ndrifted about for many months clusters of shell-fish had fas-\\ntened about it, and long sea- weeds flaunted at its sides. But\\nwhere, thought I, is the crew Their struggle has long been\\nover they have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest\\ntheir bones lie whitening among the caverns of the deep. Si-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "THE VOYAGE 7\\nlence, oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no\\none can Tell the story of their end. What sighs have been\\nwafted after that ship what prayers offered up at the deserted\\nfireside of home How often has the mistress, the wife, the\\nmother, pored over the daily news, to catch some casual intelli-\\ngence of this rover of the deep How has expectation darkened\\ninto anxiety anxiety into dread and dread into despair J\\nAlas not one memento may ever return for love to cherish.\\nAll that may ever be known, is that she sailed from her port,\\nand was never heard of more\\nThe sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismal\\nanecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, when\\nthe weather, which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild\\nand threatening, and gave indications of one of those sudden\\nstorms that will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a sum-\\nmer voyage. As we sat round the dull light of a lamp, in the\\ncabin, that made the gloom more ghastly, every one had his tale\\nof shipwreck and disaster. I was particularly struck w T ith a\\nshort one related by the captain\\nAs I was once sailing, said he, in a fine, stout ship, across\\nthe banks of Newfoundland, one of those heavy fogs that pre-\\nvail in those parts rendered it impossible for us to see far ahead,\\neven in the daytime but at night the weather was so thick\\nthat we could not distinguish any object at twice the length of\\nthe ship. I kept lights at the mast-head, and a constant watch\\nforward to look out for fishing smacks, which are accustomed\\nto anchor on the banks. The wind was blowing a smacking\\nbreeze, and we were going at a great rate through the water.\\nSuddenly the watch gave the alarm of a sail ahead it was\\nscarcely uttered before we were upon her. She was a small\\nschooner, at anchor, with her broadside toward us. The crew\\nwere all asleep, and had neglected to hoist a light. We struck\\nher just amidships. The force, the size, and weight of our ves-\\nsel, bore her down below the waves.; we passed over her and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "8 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwere hurried on our course. As the crashing wreck was sinking\\nbeneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three half-naked wretches,\\nrushing from her cabin they just started from their beds to be\\nswallowed shrieking by the waves. I heard their drowning cry\\nmingling with the wind. The blast that bore it to our ears,\\nswept us out of all further hearing. I shall never forget that\\ncry It was some time before we could put the ship about, she\\nwas under such headway. We returned as nearly as we could\\nguess, to the place where the smack had anchored. We cruised\\nabout for several hours in the dense fog. We fired signal-guns,\\nand listened if we might hear the halloo of any survivors but\\nall was silent we never saw or heard anything of them\\nmore.\\nI confess these stories, for a time, put an end to all my fine\\nfancies. The storm increased with the night. The sea was\\nlashed into tremendous confusion. There was a fearful, sullen\\nsound of rushing waves and broken surges. Deep called unto\\ndeep. At times the black volume of clouds overhead seemed\\nrent asunder by flashes of lightning which quivered along the\\nfoaming billows, and made the succeeding darkness doubly ter-\\nrible. The thunders bellowed over the wild waste of waters,\\nand were echoed and prolonged by the mountain waves. As\\nI saw the ship staggering and plunging among these roaring\\ncaverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her balance, or\\npreserved her buoyancy. Her yards would dip into the water;\\nher bow was almost buried beneath the waves. Sometimes an\\nimpending surge appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing\\nbut a dexterous movement of the helm preserved her from the\\nshock.\\nWhen I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still folldwed\\nme. The whistling of the wind through the rigging sounded-\\nlike funereal wailings. The creaking of the masts J the strain-\\ning and groaning of bulkheads, as the ship labored in the welt-\\nering sea, were frightful. As I heard the waves rushing along", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "THE VOYAGE 9\\nthe sides of the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as\\nif Death were raging round this floating prison, seeking for his\\nprey the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might\\ngive him entrance.\\nA fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and favoring breeze,\\nsoon put all these dismal reflections to flight. It is impossible\\nto resist the gladdening influence of fine weather and fair wind\\nat sea. When the ship is decked out in all her canvas, every\\n3ail swelled, and careering gayly over the curling waves, how\\nxofty, how gallant, she appears how she seems to lord it over\\nthe deep\\nI might fill a volume with the reveries of a sea voyage for\\nwith me it is almost a continual reverie but it is time to get\\nto shore.\\nIt was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of land\\nwas given from the mast-head. None but those who have ex-\\nperienced it can form an idea of the delicious throng of sensa-\\ntions which rush into an American s bosom, when he first comes\\nin sight of Europe. There is a volume of associations with the\\nvery name. It is the land of promise, teeming with everything\\nof which his childhood has heard, or on which his studious years\\nhave pondered.\\nFrom that time, until the moment of arrival, it was all fev-\\nerish excitement. The ships of war, that prowled like guardian\\ngiants along the coast the headlands of Ireland, stretching out\\ninto the channel the Welsh mountains towering into the\\nclouds; all were objects of intense interest. As we sailed\\nup the Mersey, I reconnoitred the shores with a telescope. My\\neye dwelt with delight on neat cottages, with their trim shrub-\\nberies and green grass-plots. I saw the mouldering ruin of an\\nabbey overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of a village church\\nrising from the brow of a neighboring hill all were charac-\\nteristic of England.\\nThe tide and wind were so favorable, that the ship was en-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "10 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nabled to come at once to the pier. It was thronged with people\\nsome idle lookers-on others, eager expectants of friends or rel-\\natives. I could distinguish the merchant to whom the ship\\nwas consigned. I knew him by his calculating brow and rest-\\nless air. His hands were thrust into his pockets he was\\nwhistling thoughtfully, and walking to and fro, a small space\\nhaving been accorded him by the crowd, in deference to his\\ntemporary importance. There were repeated cKeerings and\\nsalutations interchanged between the shore and the ship, as\\nfriends happened to recognize each other. I particularly no-\\nticed one young woman of humble dress, but interesting de-\\nmeanor. She was leaning forward from among the 3rowd her\\neye hurried over the ship as it neared the shore, to catch some\\nwished-for countenance. She seemed disappointed and agi-\\ntated when I heard a faint voice call ljer name. It was\\nfrom a poor sailor who had been ill all the voyage, and had\\nexcited the sympathy of every one on board. When the\\nweather was fine, his messmates had spread a mattress for him\\non deck in the shade, but of late his illness had so increased\\nthat he had taken to his hammock, and only breathed a wish\\nthat he might see his wife before he died. He had been helped\\non deck as we came up the river, and was now leaning against\\nthe shrouds, with a countenance so wasted, so pale, so ghastly,\\nthat it was no wonder even the eye of affection did not recog-\\nnize him. But at the sound of his voice, her eye darted on\\nhis features: it read, at once, a whole volume of sorrow; she\\nclasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing\\nthem in silent agony.\\nAll now was hurry and bustle. The meetings of acquaint-\\nances the greetings of friends the consultations of men of\\nbusiness. I alone was solitary and idle. I had no friend to\\nmeet, no cheering to receive. I stepped upon the land of my\\nforefathers but felt that I was a stranger in the land.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "ROSCOE U\\nR0S00E\\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 grovelling herd,\\nAnd make us shine for ever that is life.\\nThomson.\\nOne of the first places to which a stranger is taken in Liv-\\nerpool is the Athenaeum. It is established on a liberal and\\njudicious plan it contains a good library, and spacious read-\\ning-room, and is the great literary resort of the place. Go there\\nat what hour you may, you are sure to find it filled with grave-\\nlooking personages, deeply absorbed in the study of newspapers.\\nAs I w T as once visiting this haunt of the learned, my attention\\nwas attracted to a person just entering the room. He was ad-\\nvanced in life, tali, and of a form that might once have been\\ncommanding, but it was a little bowed by time perhaps by\\ncare. He had a noble Roman style of countenance a head\\nthat would have pleased a painter; and though some slight\\nfurrows on his brow showed that wasting thought had been\\nbusy there, vet his eye still beamed with the fire of a poetic\\nsoul. There was something in his whole appearance that indi-\\ncated a being of a different order from the bustling race round\\nhim.\\nI inquired his name, and was informed that it was Eoscoe.\\nI drew back with an involuntary feeling of veneration. This,\\nthen, was an author of celebrity; this was one of those men\\nwhose voices have gone forth to the ends of the earth; with\\nwhose minds I have communed even in the solitudes of Amer-\\nica. Accustomed, as we are in our country, to know European\\nwriters only by their works, we cannot conceive of them, as of\\nother men, engrossed by trivial or sordid pursuits, and jostling\\nwith the crowd of common minds in the dusty paths of life", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "12 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nThey pass before cur imaginations like superior beings, radian*\\nwith the emanations of their genius, and surrounded by a halo\\nof literary glory.\\nTo find, therefore, the elegant historian of the Medici min-\\ngling among the busy sons of traffic, at first shocked my poetical\\nideas but it is from the very circumstances and situation in\\nwhich he has been placed, that Mr. Roscoe derives his highest\\nclaims to admiration. It is interesting to notice how some\\nminds seem almost to create themselves, springing up under\\nevery disadvantage, and working their solitary but irresistible\\nway through a thousand obstacles. Nature seems to delight\\nin disappointing the assiduities of art, with which it would rear\\nlegitimate dulness to maturity and to glory in the vigor and\\nluxuriance of her chance productions. She scatters the seeds\\nof genius to the winds, and though some may perish among the\\nstony places of the world, and some be choked by the thorns\\nand brambles of early adversity, yet others will now and then\\nstrike foot even in the clefts of the rock, struggle bravely up\\ninto sunshine, and spread over their sterile birthplace all the\\nbeauties of vegetation.\\nSuch has been the case with Mr. Roscoe. Born in a place\\napparently ungenial to the growth of literary talent in the\\nvery market-place of trade without fortune, family connections,\\nor patronage self-prompted, self-sustain sd, and almost self-\\ntaught, he has conquered every obstacle, achieved his way to\\neminence, and, having become one of the ornaments of the\\nnation, has turned the whole force of his talents and influence\\nto advance and embellish his native town.\\nIndeed, it is this last trait in his character which has given\\nhim he greatest interest in my eyes, and induced me particu-\\nlarly to point him out to my countrymen. Eminent as are his\\nliterary merits, he is but one among the many distinguished\\nauthors of this intellectual nation. They, however, in general,\\nlive but for their own fame, or their own pleasures. Their pri", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "ROSCOE 13\\nvate history presents no lesson to the world, or, perhaps, a\\nhumiliating one of human frailty and inconsistency. At best,\\nthey are prone to steal away from the bustle and commonplace\\nof busy existence to indulge in the selfishness of lettered ease\\nand to revel in scenes of mental, but exclusive enjoyment.\\nMr. Ifoscoe, on the contrary, has claimed none of the accorded\\nprivileges of talent. He has shut himself up in no garden of\\nthought, nor elysium of fancy: but has gone forth into the\\nhighways and thoroughfares of life, he has planted bowers by\\nthe wayside, for the refreshment of the pilgrim and the so-\\njourner, and has opened pure fountains, where the laboring man\\nmay turn aside from the dust and heat of the day, and drink\\nof the living streams of knowledge. There is a daily beauty\\nin his life, on which mankind may meditate, and grow better.\\nIt exhibits no lofty and almost useless, because inimitable, ex-\\nample of excellence but presents a picture of active, yet simple\\nand imitable virtues, which are within every man s reach, but\\nwhich, unfortunately, are not exercised by many, or this world\\nwould be a paradise.\\nBut his private life is peculiarly worthy the attention of the\\ncitizens of our young and busy country, where literature and\\nthe elegant arts must grow up side by side with the coarser\\nplants of daily necessity; and must depend for their culture,\\nnot on the exclusive devotion of time and wealth; nor the\\nquickening rays of titled patronage but on hours and seasons\\nsnatched from the pursuit of worldly interests, by intelligent\\nand public-spirited individuals.\\nHe has shown how much may be done for a place in hours\\nof leisure by one master-spirit, and how completely it can give\\nits own impress to surrounding objects. Like his own Lo-\\nrenzo de Medici, on whom he seems to have fixed his eye, as on\\na pure model of antiquity, he has interwoven the history of his\\nlife with the history of his native town, and has made the\\nfoundations of his fame the monuments of his virtues. Wher", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "14 THE SKETCH BOOK\\never you go, in Liverpool, you perceive traces of his footsteps\\nin all that is elegant and liberal. He found the tide of wealth\\nflowing merely in the channels of traffic he has diverted from\\nit invigorating rills to refresh the garden of literature. By his\\nown example and constant exertions, he has effected that union\\nof commerce and the intellectual pursuits, so eloquently recom-\\nmended in one of his latest writings and has practically\\nproved how beautifully they may be brought to harmonize, and\\nto benefit each other. The noble institutions for literary and sci-\\nentific purposes, which reflect such credit on Liverpool, and are\\ngiving such an impulse to the public mind, have mostly been\\noriginated, and have all been effectively promoted, by Mr. Ros-\\ncoe and when we consider the rapidly increasing opulence and\\nmagnitude of that town, which promises to vie in commercial\\nimportance with the metropolis, it will be perceived that in\\nawakening an ambition of mental improvement among its in-\\nhabitants, he has effected a great benefit to the cause of British\\nliterature.\\nIn America, we know Mr. Roscoe only as the author; in\\nLiverpool he is spoken of as the banker and I was told of his\\nhaving been unfortunate in business. I could not pity him, as\\nI heard some rich men do. I considered him far above the\\nreach of pity. Those who live only for the world, and in the\\nworld, may be cast down by the frowns of adversity; but a\\nman like Roscoe is not to be overcome by the reverses of for-\\ntune. They do but drive him in upon the resources of his own\\nmind, to the superior society of his own thoughts which the\\nbest of men are apt sometimes to neglect, and to roam abroad\\nin search of less worthy associates. He is independent of the\\nworld around him. He lives with antiquity and posterity\\nwith antiquity, in the sweet communion of studious retirement\\nand with posterity, in the generous aspirings after future re-\\nnown. The solitude of such a mind is its state of highest en-\\njoyment. It is then visited by those elevated meditations which", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "ROSCOE 15\\nare the proper aliment of noble souls, and are, like manna sent\\nfrom heaven, in the wilderness of this world.\\nWhile my feelings were yet alive on the subject, it was my\\nfortune to light on further traces of Mr. Roscoe. I was riding\\nout with a gentleman, to view the environs of Liverpool, when\\nhe turned off, through a gate, into some ornamented grounds.\\nAfter riding a short distance, we came to a spacious mansion of\\nfreestone, built in the Grecian style. It was not in the purest\\ntaste, yet it had an air of elegance, and the situation was de-\\nlightful A fine lawn sloped away from it, studded with clumps\\nof trees, so disposed as to break a soft fertile country into a\\nvariety of landscapes. The Mersey was seen winding a broad\\nquiet sheet of water through an expanse of green meadow land,\\nwhile the Welsh mountains, blended with clouds, and melting\\ninto distance, bordered the horizon.\\nThis was Roscoe s favorite residence during the days of his\\nprosperity. It had been the seat of elegant hospitality and liter-\\nary retirement. The house was now silent and deserted. I\\nsaw the windows of the study, which looked out upon the soft\\nscenery I have mentioned. The windows were closed the\\nlibrary was gone. Two or three ill-favored beings were loitering\\nabout the place, whom my fancy pictured into retainers of the\\nlaw. It was like visiting some classic fountain, that had once\\nwelled its pure waters in a sacred shade, but finding it dry and\\ndusty, with the lizard and the toad brooding over the shattered\\nmarbles.\\nI inquired after the fate of Mr. Roscoe s library, which had\\nconsisted of scarce and foreign books, from many of which he\\nhad drawn the materials for his Italian histories. It had passed\\nunder the hammer of the auctioneer, and was dispersed about\\nthe country. The good people of the vicinity thronged like\\nwreckers to get some part of the noble vessel that had been\\ndriven on shore. Did such a scene admit of ludicrous associa-\\ntions, we might imagine something whimsical in this strange", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "16 THE SKETCH BOOR\\nirruption in the regions of learning. Pigmies rummaging the\\narmory of a giant, and contending for the possession of weapons\\nwhich they could not wield. We might picture to ourselves\\nsome knot of speculators, debating with calculating brow over\\nthe quaint binding and illuminated margin of an obsolete\\nauthor or the air of intense, but baffled sagacity, with wKich\\nsome successful purchaser attempted to dive info the black-letter\\nbargain he had secured.\\nIt is a beautiful incident in the story of Mr. Roscoe s misfor-\\ntunes, and one which cannot fail to interest the studious mind,\\nthat the parting with his books seems to have touched upon his\\ntenderest feelings, and to have been the only circumstance that\\ncould provoke the notice of his muse. The scholar only knows\\nhow dear these silent, yet eloquent, companions of pure thoughts\\nand innocent hours become in the seasons of adversity. When\\nall that is worldly turns to dross around us, these only retain\\ntheir steady value. When friends grow cold, and the converse\\nof intimates languishes into vapjd civility and commonplace,\\nthese only continue the unaltered countenance of happier days,\\nand cheer us with that true friendship which never deceived\\nhope, nor deserted sorrow.\\nI do not wish to censure but, surely, if the people of Liver-\\npool had been properly sensible of what was due to Mr. Roscoe\\nand themselves, his library would never have been sold. Good\\nworldly reasons may, doubtless, be given for the circumstance,\\nwhich it would be difficult to combat with others that might\\nseem merely fanciful but it certainly appears to me such an\\nopportunity as seldom occurs, of cheering a noble mind strug-\\ngling under misfortunes by one of the most delicate, but most\\nexpressive tokens of public sympathy. It is difficult, however,\\nto estimate a man of genius properly who is daily before our\\neyes. He becomes mingled and confounded with other men\\nHis great qualities lose their novelty we become too familial\\nwith the common materials which form the basis even of the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "BOSCOE 17\\nloftiest character. Some of Mr. Koscoe s townsmen may regard\\nhim merely as a man of business others, as a politician all\\nfind him engaged like themselves in ordinary occupations, and\\nsurpassed, perhaps, by themselves on some points of worldly\\nwisdom. Even that amiable and unostentatious simplicity of\\ncharacter, which gives the nameless grace to real excellence,\\nmay cause him to be undervalued by some coarse minds, who\\ndo not know that true worth is always void of glare and preten-\\nsion. But the man of letters, who speaks of Liverpool, speaks\\nof it as the residence of Koscoe. The intelligent traveller who\\nvisits it inquires where Koscoe is to be seen He is the literary\\nlandmark of the place, indicating its existence to the distant\\nscholar. He is like Pompey s column to Alexandria, towering\\nalone in classic dignity.\\nThe following sonnet, addressed by Mr. Roscoe to his books,\\non parting with them, is alluded to in the preceding article.\\nIf anything can add effect to the pure feeling and elevated\\nthought here displayed, it is the conviction, that the whole is\\nno effusion of fancy, but a faithful transcript from the writer s\\nheart.\\nTO MY BOOKS\\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": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "18 THE SKETCH BOOK\\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 not sweeter!\\nMiddleton.\\nI have often had occasion to remark the fortitude with\\nwhich women sustain the most overwhelming reverses of for-\\ntune. Those disasters which break down the spirit; of a man,\\nand prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the ener-\\ngies of the softer sex, and give such intrepidity and elevation\\nto their character, that at times it approaches to suj^Upity.\\nNothing can be more touching, than to behold a soft and\\ntender female, who had been all weakness and dependence,\\nand alive to every trivial roughness, while treading the pros-\\nperous paths of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be the\\ncomforter and support of her husband under misfortune, and\\nabiding with unshrinking firmness the bitterest blasts of ad-\\nversity.\\nAs the vine, which has long twined its graceful foliage about\\nthe oak, and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the\\nhardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its\\ncaressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered boughs, so is it\\nbeautifully ordered by Providence, that woman, who is the\\nmere dependent and ornament of man in his happier hours,\\nshould be his stay and solace when smitten with sudden calam-\\nity winding herself into the rugged r ecess es of his nature, ten-\\nderly supporting the drooping head, and Binding up the broken\\nheart.\\nI was once congratulating a friend, who had around him a\\nblooming family, knit together in the strongest affection. 1", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "THE WIFE 19\\ncan wish you no better lot, said he, with enthusiasm, than\\nto have a wife and children. If you are prosperous, there they\\nare to share your prosperity; if otherwise, there they are to\\ncomfort you. And, indeed, I have observed that a married\\nman falling into misfortune, is more apt to retrieve his situa-\\ntion in the world than a single one partly, because he is more\\nstimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and\\nbeloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence, but\\nchiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic\\nendearments, and his self-respect kept alive by finding that,\\nthough all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yet there is\\nstill a little world of love at home, of which he is the mon-\\narch. Whereas, a single man is apt to run to waste and self-\\nneglect to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart\\nto fall to ruin, like some deserted mansion, for w T ant of an in-\\nhabitant.\\nThese observations call to mind a little domestic story, of\\nwhich I was once a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had\\nmarried a beautiful and accomplished girl, who had been\\nbrought up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is\\ntrue, no fortune, but that of my friend was ample and he\\ndelighted in the anticipation of indulging her in every elegant\\npursuit, and administering to those delicate tastes and fancies\\nthat spread a kind of witchery about the sex. Her life, said\\nhe, shall be like a fairy tale.\\nThe very difference in their characters produced a harmonious\\ncombination he was of a romantic, and somewhat serious cast\\nshe was all life and gladness. I have often noticed the mute\\nrapture with which he would gaze upon her in company, of\\nwhich her sprightly powers made her the delight and how,\\nin the midst of applause, her eye would still turn to him, as\\nif there alone she sought favor and acceptance. When lean-\\ning on his arm, her slender form contrasted finely with his tall,\\nmanly person. The fond, confiding air with which she looked", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "20 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nup to him seemed to call forth a flush of triumphant pride and\\ncherishing tenderness, as if he doted on his lovely burden for its\\nvery helplessness. Never did a couple set forward on the flowery\\npath of early and well-suited marriage with a fairer prospect of\\nfelicity.\\nIt was the misfortune of my friend, however, to have em-\\nbarked his property in large speculations; and he had not\\nbeen married many months, when, by a succession of sudden\\ndisasters, it was swept from him, and he found himself reduced\\nalmost to penury. For a time he kept his situation to himself,\\nand went about with a haggard countenance and a breaking\\nheart. His life was but a protracted agony and what ren-\\ndered it more insupportable was the necessity of keeping up a\\nsmile in the presence of his wife for he could not bring himself\\nto overwhelm her with the news. She saw, however, with the\\nquick eyes of affection, that all was not well with him. She\\nmarked his altered looks and stifled sighs, and was not to be\\ndeceived by his sickly and vapid attempts at cheerfulness. She\\ntasked all her sprightly powers and tender blandishments to win\\nhim back to happiness but she only drove the arrow deeper\\ninto his soul. The more he saw cause to love her, the more\\ntorturing was the thought that he was soon to make her\\nwretched. A little while, thought he, and the smile will van-\\nish from that cheek the song will die away from those lips\\nthe lustre of those eyes will be quenched with sorrow and\\nthe happy heart which now beats lightly in that bosom, will be\\nweighed down, like mine, by the cares and miseries of the\\nworld.\\nAt length he came to me one day, and related his whole situ-\\nation in a tone of the deepest despair. When I had heard him\\nthrough, I inquired Does your wife know all this At the\\nquestion he burst into an agony of tears. For God s sake\\ncried he, if you have any pity on me don t mention my wife\\nit is the thought of her that drives me almost to madness", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "THE WIFE 21\\nAnd why not? said I. She must know it sooner or\\nlater you cannot keep it long from her, and the intelligence\\nmay break upon her in a more startling manner than if im-\\nparted by yourself; for the accents of those we love soften the\\nharshest tidings. Besides, you are depriving yourself of the\\ncomforts ofTier sympathy and not merely that, but also en-\\ndangering the only bond that can keep hearts together an\\nunreserved community of thought and feeling. She will soon\\nperceive that something is secretly preying upon your mind\\nand true love will not brook reserve /TF feels undervalued and\\noutraged, when even the sorrows of those it loves are concealed\\nfrom it.\\nOh, but my friend to think what a blow I am to give to\\nall her future prospects, how I am to strike her very soul\\nto the earth, by telling her that her husband is a beggar that\\nshe is to forego all the elegancies of life all the pleasures of\\nsociety to shrink with me into indigence and obscurity To\\ntell her that I have dragged her downfrom the sphere in which\\nshe might have continued to move in constant brightness the\\nlight of every eye the admiration of every heart How t can\\nshe bear poverty She has been brought up in all the refine-\\nments of opulence. How can she bear neglect She has been\\nthe idol of society. Oh, it will break her heart it will break\\nher heart\\nI saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow; for\\nsorrow relieves itself by words. When his paroxysm had sub-\\nsided, and he had relapsed into moody silence, I resumed the\\nsubject gently, and urged him to break his situation at once to\\nhis wife. He shook his head mournfully, but positively.\\nBut how are you to keep it from her It is necessary she\\nshould know it, that you may take the steps proper to the\\nalteration of your circumstances. You must change your style\\nof living nay, observing a pang to pass across his counte-\\nnance, don t let that afflict you. I am sure you have never", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "22 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nplaced your happiness in outward show you have yet friends,\\nwarm friends, who will not think the worse of you for being\\nless splendidly lodged and surely it does not require a palace\\nto be happy with Mary\\nI could be happy with her, cried he, convulsively, in a\\nhovel I could go down with her into poverty and the dust\\nI could I could God bless her God bless her cried\\nhe, bursting into a transport of grief and tenderness.\\nAnd believe me, my friend, said I, stepping up, and grasp-\\ning him warmly by the hand, believe me, she can be the same\\nwith you. Ay, more it will be a source of pride and triumph\\nto her it will call forth all the latent energies and fervent\\nsympathies of her nature for she will rejoice to prove that\\nshe loves you for yourself. There is in every true woman s\\nheart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad\\ndaylight of prosperity but which kindles up, and beams, and\\nblazes in the dark hour of adversity. No man knows what the\\nwife of his bosom is no man knows what a ministering angel\\nshe is until he has gone with her through the fiery trials of\\nthis world.\\nThere was something in the earnestness of my manner, and\\nthe figurative style of my language, that caught the excited im-\\nagination of Leslie. I knew the auditor I had to deal with\\nand following up the impression I had made, I finished by per-\\nsuading him to go home and unburden his sad heart to his\\nwife.\\nI must confess, notwithstanding all I had said, I felt some\\nlittle solicitude for the result. Who can calculate on the forti-\\ntude of one whose whole life has been a round of pleasures\\nHer gay spirits might revolt at the dark, downward path of\\nlow humility suddenly pointed out before her, and might cling\\nto the sunny regions in which they had hitherto revelled. Be-\\nsides, ruin in fashionable life is accompanied by so many galling\\nmortifications, to which, in other ranks, it is a stranger. In", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "THE WIFE 23\\nshort, I could not meet 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 relief to her\\nmind, for she threw her arms round my neck, and asked if this\\nwas all that had lately made me unhappy. But, poor girl,\\nadded he, she cannot realize the change we must undergo.\\nShe has no idea of povert} 7 but in the abstract she has only\\nread of it in poetry, where it is allied to love. She feels as yet\\nno privation; she suffers no loss of accustomed conveniences\\nnor elegancies. When we come practically to experience its\\nsordid cares, its paltry wants, its petty humiliations then\\nwill be the real trial.\\nBut, said I, now that you have got over the severest\\ntask, that of breaking it to her, the sooner you let the world\\ninto the secret the better. The disclosure may be mortifying\\nbut then it is a single misery, and soon over whereas you\\notherwise suffer it, in anticipation, every hour in the day. It\\nis not poverty, so much as pretence, that harasses a ruined man\\nthe struggle between a proud mind and~ an empty purse\\nthe keeping up a hollo w show that must soon come to an end.\\nHave the courage to appear poor, and you disarm poverty of\\nits sharpest sting. On this point I found Leslie perfectly pre-\\npared. He had no false pride himself, and as to his wife, she\\nwas only anxious to conform to their altered fortunes.\\nSome days afterward he called upon me in the evening. He\\nhad disposed of his dwelling-house, and taken a small cottage\\nin the country, a few miles from town. He had been busied\\nall day in sending out furniture. The new establishment re-\\nquired few articles, and those of the simplest kind. All the\\nsplendid furniture of his late residence had been sold, excepting\\nhis wife s harp. That, he said, was too closely associated with\\nthe idea of herself it belonged to the little story of their loves\\nfor some of the sweetest moments of their courtship were those", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "24 THE SKETCH BOOR\\nwhen he had leaned over that instrument, and listened to the\\nmelting tones of her voice. I could not but smile at this in-\\nstance of romantic gallantry in a doting husband.\\nHe was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had\\nbeen all day superintending its arrangement. My feelings had\\nbecome strongly interested in the progress of this family story,\\nand, as it was a fine evening, I offered to accompany him.\\nHe was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and, as we\\nwalked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing.\\nPoor Mary at length broke, with a heavy sigh, from his\\nlips.\\nAnd what of her, asked I, has anything happened to her\\nWhat, said he, darting an impatient glance, is it nothing\\nto be reduced to this paltry situation to be caged in a miser-\\nable cottage to be obliged to toil almost in the menial con-\\ncerns of her wretched habitation\\nHas she then repined at the change\\nRepined she has been nothing but sweetness and good-\\nhumor. Indeed, she seems in better spirits than I have ever\\nknown her she has been to me all love, and tenderness, and\\ncomfort\\nAdmirable girl exclaimed I. You call yourself poor,\\nmy friend you never were so rich, you never knew the\\nboundless treasures of excellence you possess in that woman.\\nOh but, my friend, if this first meeting at the cottage\\nwere over, I think I could then be comfortable. But this is\\nher first day of real experience she has been introduced into a\\nhumble dwelling, she has been employed all day in arranging\\nits miserable equipments, she has, for the first time, known\\nthe fatigues of domestic employment, she has, for the first\\ntime, looked around her on a home destitute of everything\\nelegant almost of everything convenient and may now be\\nsitting down, exhausted and spiritless, brooding over a prospect\\nof future poverty.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "THE WIFE 25\\nThere was a degree of probability in this picture that I could\\nnot gainsay, so we walked on in silence.\\nAftef~ turning from the main road up a narrow lane, so thickly\\nshaded with forest-trees as to give it a complete air of seclusion,\\nwe came in sight of the cottage. It was humble enough in its\\nappearance for the most pastoral poet and yet it had a pleas-\\ning rural look. A wild vine had overrun one end with a pro-\\nfusion of foliage a few trees threw their branches gracefully\\nover it and I observed several pots of flowers tastefully dis-\\nposed about the door, and on the grass-plot in front. A small\\nwicket-gate opened upon a footpath that wound through some\\nshrubbery to the door. Just as we approached, we heard the\\nsound of music Leslie grasped my arm; we paused and\\nlistened. It was Mary s voice singing, in a style of the most\\ntouching simplicity, a little air of which her husband was\\npeculiarly fond.\\nI felt Leslie s hand tremble on my arm. He stepped forward,\\nto hear more distinctly. His step made a noise on the gravel\\nwalk. A bright beautiful face glanced out at the window, and\\nvanished a light footstep was heard and Mary came trip-\\nping forth to meet us. She was in a pretty rural dress of\\nwhite a few wild flowers were twisted in her fine hair a fresji\\nbloom was on her cheek her whole countenance beamed with\\nsmiles I had never seen her look so lovely.\\nMy dear George, cried she, I am so glad you are come;\\nI have been watching and watching for you and running down\\nthe lane, and looking out for you. I ve set out a table under a\\nbeautiful tree behind the cottage and I ve been gathering some\\nof the most delicious strawberries, for I know you are fond of\\nthem and we have such excellent cream and everything is\\nso sweet and still here Oh said she, putting her arm\\nwithin his, and looking up brightly in his face, Oh, we shall\\nbe so happy\\nPoor Leslie was overcome. He caught her to his bosom", "height": "3399", "width": "2478", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "26 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nhe folded his arms round her he kissed her again and again\\nhe could not speak, but the tears gushed into his eyes and\\nhe has often assured me, that though the world has since gone\\nprosperously with him, and his life has, indeed, been a happy\\none, yet never has he experienced a moment of more exquisite\\nfelicity.\\nRIP VAN WINKLE\\nA x-OSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER\\n[The following Tale was found among the papers of the late Diedri ^a\\nKnickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very curious\\nin the Dutch History of the province and the manners of the descend-\\nants from its primitive settlers. His historical researches, however,\\ndid not lie so much among books as among men for the former are\\nlamentably scanty on his favorite topics, whereas he found the old\\nburghers, and still more their wives, rich in that legendary lore so\\ninvaluable to true history. Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a\\ngenuine Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed farm-house,\\nunder a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little clasped\\nvolume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a bookworm.\\nThe result of all these researches was a history of the province dur-\\ning the reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years\\nsince. There have been various opinions as to the literary character\\nof his work, and, to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should\\nbe. Its chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was a little\\nquestiou3Cx on ics first appearance, but has since been completely estab-\\nlished and it is now admitted into all historical collections as a book\\nof unquestionable authority.\\nThe old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work,\\nand now that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his mem-\\nory to say that his time might have been much better employed in\\nweightier labors. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his own way\\nand though it did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of\\nhis neighbors, and grieve the spirit of some friends for whom he felt the\\ntruest deference and affection, yet his errors and follies are remem-\\nbered more in sorrow than in anger, and it begins to be suspected\\nthat he never intended to injure or offend. But, however his memory\\nmay be appreciated by critics, it is still held dear by many folk, whose\\ngood opinion is well worth having; particularly by certain biscuit-\\nbakers, who have gone so far as to imprint his likeness on their new*", "height": "3399", "width": "2513", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "RIP VAN WINKLE 27\\nyear cakes, and have thus given him a chance for immortality almost\\nequal to the being stamped on a Waterloo medal or a Queen Anne s\\nfarthing.]\\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\\nCart weight.\\nWhoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remem-\\nber the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered branch\\nof the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the\\nwest of the river, swelling up to a noble height, and lording it\\nover the surrounding country. Every change of season, every\\nchange of weather, indeed, every hour of the day produces some\\nchange in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains and\\nthey are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect\\nbarometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are\\nclothecT in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the\\nclear evening sky but sometimes, when the rest of the land-\\nscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors about\\ntheir summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, wil*\\nglow and light up like a crown of glory.\\nAt the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have\\ndescried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose\\nshingle roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tints\\nof the upland melt away into the fresh green of the nearer land-\\nscape. It is a little village of great antiquity, having been\\nfounded by some of the Dutch colonists, in the early times of\\nthe province, just about the beginning of the government of the\\ngood Peter Stuyvesant (may he rest in peace and there were\\nsome of the houses of the original settlers standing within a few\\nyears, built of small yellow bricks, brought from Holland, hav-\\ning latticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted with weather-\\ncocks.\\nIn that same village, and in one of these very houses which,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "28 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nto tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather-\\nbeaten), there lived, many years since, while the country was\\nyet a province of Great Britain, a simple, good-natured fellow,\\nof the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendant of the\\nVan Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of\\nPeter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of Fort\\nChristina. He inherited, however, but little ofThe martial\\ncharacter of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a\\nsimple, good-natured man he was, moreover, a kind neighbor,\\nand an obedient henpecked husband. Indeed, to the latter\\ncircumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which\\ngained him such universal popularity for those men are apt to\\nbe obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under the disci-\\npline of shrews at home. Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered\\npliant and malleable in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation,\\nand a curtain -lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for\\nteaching the virtues of patience and long-suffering. A terma-\\ngant wife may, therefore, in some respects, be considered a\\ntolerable blessing, and if so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice\\nblessed.\\nCertain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the good\\nwives ef the village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took\\nhis part in all family squabbles, and never failed, whenever they\\ntalked those matters over in their evening gossipings, to lay all\\nthe blame on Dame Van Winkle. The children of the village,\\ntoo, would shout with joy whenever he approached. He as-\\nsisted at their sports, made their playthings, taught them to\\nfly kites and shoot marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts,\\nwitches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the\\nvillage, he was surrounded by a troop of them hanging on his\\nskirts, clambering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks\\non him with impunity; and not a dog would bark at him\\nthroughout the neighborhood.\\nThe great error in Rip s composition was an insuperable", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "RIP VAN WINKLE 29\\naversion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from\\nthe want of assiduity or perseverance; for he would sit on a\\nwet rock, with aTod as long and heavy as a Tartar s lance, and\\nfish all day without a murmur, even though he should not be\\nencouraged by a single nibble. He would carry a fowling-piece\\non his shoulder, for hours together, trudging through woods and\\nswamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or\\nwild pigeons. He would never refuse to assist a neighbor even\\nin the roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all country\\nfrolics for husking Indian corn, or building stone fences; the\\nwomen of the village, too, used to employ him to run their\\nerrands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging\\nhusbands would not do for them. In a word, Eip was ready to\\nattend to anybody s business but his own but as to doing family\\nduty and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible.\\nIn fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm it\\nwas the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole coun-\\ntry everything about it went wrong, and would go wrong in\\nspite of him. His fences were continually falling to pieces;\\nhis cow would either go astray, or get among the cabbages;\\nweeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields than anywhere\\nelse the rain always made a point of setting in just as he had\\nsome out-door work to do so that though his patrimonial es-\\ntate had dwindled away under his management, acre by acre,\\nuntil there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian\\ncorn and potatoes, yet it was the worst-conditioned farm in the\\nneighborhood.\\nHis children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged\\nto nobody. His son Eip, an urchin begotten in his own like-\\nness, promised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes, of\\nhis father. He was generally seen trooping like a colt at his\\nmother s heels, equipped in a pair of his father s cast-off galli-\\ngaskins, which he had much ado to hold up with one hand, as\\na fine lady does her train in bad weather.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "30 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nRip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals,\\nof foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat\\nwhite bread or brown, whichever can be got with least thought\\nor trouble, and would rather starve on a penny than work for\\na pound. If left to himself, he would have whistled life away,\\nin perfect contentment; but his wife kept continually dinnuig\\nin his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he\\nwas bringing on his family. Morning, noon, and night, *ier\\ntongue was incessantjy going, and everything he said oi did\\nwas sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence, tlip\\nhad but one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and\\nthat, by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He shrugged\\nhis shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing\\nThis, however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife, so\\nthat he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside\\nof the house the only side which, in truth, belongs to a n en-\\npecked husband.\\nRip s sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who whs as\\nmuch henpecked as his master for Dame Van Winkle regarded\\nthem as companions in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf\\nwith an evil eye, as the cause of his master s going so often\\nastray. True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an honorable\\ndog, he was as courageous an animal as ever scoured the woods\\nbut what courage can withstand the ever-doing, and. all-\\nbesetting terrors of a woman s tongue The moment Wolf\\nentered the house, his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground,\\nor curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air,\\ncasting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at\\nthe least flourish of a broomstick or ladle, he would fly to the\\ndoor with yelping precipitation.\\nTimes grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years\\nof matrimony rolled on a tart temper never mellows with age,\\nand a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener\\nwith constant use. For a long while he used to console him-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "RIP VAX WIXKLE 31\\nself, when driven from home, by frequenting a kind of perpetual\\nclub of the sages, philosophers, and other idle personages of the\\nvillage, which held its sessions on a bench before a small inn,\\ndesignated by a rubicund portrait of his Majesty George the\\nThirdT~ Here they used to sit in the shade through a long,\\nlazy summer s day, talking listlessly over village gossip, or tell-\\ning endless, sleepy stories about nothing. But it would have\\nbeen worth any statesman s money to have heard the profound\\ndiscussions which sometimes took place, when by chance an old\\nnewspaper fell into their hands from some passing traveller.\\nHow solemnly they would listen to the contents, as drawled\\nout by Derrick Van Bummel, the school-master, a dapper\\nlearned little man, who was not to be daunted by the most\\ngigantic word in the dictionary; and how sagely they would\\ndeliberate upon public events some months after they had taken\\nplace.\\nThe opinions of this junto were completely controlled by\\nNicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the\\ninn, at the door of which he took his seat from morning till\\nnight, just moving sufficiently to avoid the sun, and keep in\\nthe shade of a large tree so that the neighbors could tell the\\nhour by his movements as accurately as by a sun-dial. It is\\ntrue, he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked his pipe inces-\\nsantly. His adherents, however, (for every great man has his\\nadherents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather\\nhis opinions. When anything that was read or related dis-\\npleased him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and\\nto send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs but when pleased,\\nhe would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and emit it\\nin light and placid clouds, and sometimes, taking the pipe from\\nhis mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor curl about his nose,\\nwould gravely nod his head in token of perfect approbation.\\nFrom even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length\\nrouted by his termagant wife, who would suddenly break iu", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "32 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nupon the tranquillity of the assemblage, and call the members\\nall to nought nor was that august personage, Nicholas Vedder\\nhimself, sacred from the daring tongue of this terrible virago,\\nwho charged him outright with encouraging her husband in\\nhabits of idleness.\\nPoor Rip was- at last reduced almost to despair and his\\nonly alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and the\\nclamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand, and stroll away\\ninto the woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at the\\nfoot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with Wolf,\\nwith whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in persecution.\\nPoor Wolf, he would say, thy mistress leads thee a clog s\\nlife of it but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt\\nnever want a friend to stand by thee Wolf would wag his\\ntail, look wistfully in his master s face, and if dogs can feel\\npity, I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his\\nheart.\\nIn a long ramble of the kind, on a fine autumnal day, Rip\\nhad unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the\\nKaatskill mountains. He was after his favorite sport of squir-\\nrel-shooting, and the still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed\\nwith the reports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw\\nhimself, late in the afternoon, on a green knoll, covered with\\nmountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a precipice. From\\nan opening between the trees he could overlook all the lower\\ncountry for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a dis-\\ntance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent\\nbut majestic course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or\\nihe sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy\\nbosom, and at last losing itself in the blue highlands.\\nOn the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen,\\nwild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments\\nfrom the impending^cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected\\nrays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "RIP VAN WINKLE 33\\nthis scene; evening was gradually advancing; the mountains\\nbegan to throw their long blue shadows over the valleys; he\\nsaw that it would be dark long before he could reach the\\nvillage; and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of\\nencountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle.\\nAs-te was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance\\nhallooing Rip Van Winkle Rip Van Winkle He looked\\naround, but could see nothing but a crow winging its solitary\\nflight across the mountain. He thought his fancy must have\\ndeceived him, and turned again to descend, when he heard the\\nsame cry ring through the still evening air, Rip Van Winkle\\nRip Van Winkle I at the same time Wolf bristled up his\\nback, and giving a low growl, skulked to his master s side,\\nlooking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague\\napprehension stealing over him; he looked anxiously in the\\nsame direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling\\nup the rocks, and bending under the weight of something he\\ncarried on his back. He was surprised to see any human being\\nin this lonely and unfrequented place, but supposing it to be\\nsome one of the neighborhood in need of his assistance, he has-\\ntened down to yield it.\\nOn nearer approach, he was still more surprised at the singu-\\nlarity of the stranger s appearance. He was a short, square-\\nbuilt old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard.\\nHis dress was of the antique Dutch fashion a cloth jerkin\\nstrapped round the waist several pairs of breeches, the outer\\none of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttons down the\\nsides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his shoulders a\\nstout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs for Rip\\nto approach and assist him with the load. Though rather shy\\nand distrustful of this new acquaintance, Rip complied with his\\nusual alacrity and mutually relieving each other, they clam-\\nbered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain\\ntorrent. As they ascended, Rip every now and then heard long", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "34 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nrolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to issue out of\\na deep ravine, or rather cleft between lofty rocks, toward which\\ntheir rugged path conducted. He paused for an instant, but\\nsupposing it to be the muttering of one of those transient\\nthunder-showers which often take place in the mountain\\nheights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they\\ncame to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre, surrounded by\\nperpendicular precipices, over the brinks of which impending\\ntrees shot their branches, so that you only caught glimpses\\nof the azure sky, and the bright evening cloud. During the\\nwho!/ time Kip and his companion had labored on in silence\\nfor though the former marvelled greatly what could be the\\nobject of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet\\nthere was something strange and incomprehensible about the\\nunknown, that inspired awe, and checked familiarity.\\nOn entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder pre-\\nsented themselves. On a level spot in the centre was a com-\\npany of odd-looking personages playing at ninepins. They were\\ndressed in quaint outlandish fashion some wore short doublets,\\nothers jerkins, with long knives in their belts, and most of them\\nhad enormous breeches, of similar style with that of the guide s.\\nTheir visages, too, were peculiar one had a large head, broad\\nface- and small piggish eyes the face of another seemed to\\nconsist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar-\\nloaf hat, set off with a little red cock s tail They all had beards,\\nof various shapes and colors. There was one who seemed to be\\nthe commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with a weather-\\nbeaten countenance he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and\\nhanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-\\nheeled shoes, with roses in them. The whole group reminded\\nRip of the figures in an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of\\nDominie Van Shaick, the village parson, and which had been\\nbrought over from Holland at the time of the settlement.\\nWhat seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "RIP VAN WINKLE 35\\nfolks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained\\nthe gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, and were, withal,\\nthe most melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed.\\nNothing interrupted the stillness of the scene but the noise of\\nthe balls, which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the\\nmountains like rumbling peals of thunder.\\nAs Rip and his companion approached them they suddenly\\ndesisted from their play, and stared at him with such fixed\\nstatue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre counte-\\nnances, that his heart turned within him, and his knees smote\\ntogether. His companion now emptied the contents of the keg\\ninto large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon the com-\\npany. He obeyed with fear and trembling they quaffed the\\nliquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game.\\nBy degrees, Rip s awe and apprehension subsided. He even\\nventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage\\nwhich he found had much of the flavor of excellent Hollands.\\nHe was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat\\nthe draught. One taste provoked another; and he reiterated\\nhis visits to the flagon so often, that at length his senses were\\noverpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradually\\ndeclined, and he fell into a deep sleep.\\nOn waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence lie\\nhad first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes\\nit was a bright sunny morning. The birds were hopping and\\ntwittering among the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling aloft,\\nand breasting the pure mountain breeze. Surely, thought\\nRip, I have not slept here all night. He recalled the occur-\\nrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with the keg\\nof liquor the mountain ravine the wild retreat among the\\nrocks the woe-begone party at ninepins the flagon Oh\\nthat flagon that wicked flagon thought Rip what excuse\\nshall I make to Dame Van Winkle\\nHe looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "36 THE SKETCH BOOK\\noiled fowling-piece, he found an old fire-lock lying by him, the\\nbarrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock\\nworm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysterers of\\nthe mountain had put a trick upon him, and having dosed him\\nwith liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disap-\\npeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or par-\\ntridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name, but all\\nin vain the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog\\nwas to be seen.\\nHe determined to revisit the scene of the last evening s gam-\\nbol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and\\ngun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints,\\nand wanting in his usual activity. These mountain beds do\\nnot agree with me, thought Rip, and if this frolic should lay\\nme up with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time\\nwith Dame Van Winkle. With some difficulty he got down\\ninto the glen he found the gully up which he and his compan-\\nion had ascended the preceding evening but to his astonishment\\na mountain stream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock\\nto rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, how-\\never, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his toilsome\\nway through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel and\\nsometimes tripped up or entangled By the wild grape vines that\\ntwisted their coils or tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a\\nkind of network in his path.\\nAt length he reached to where the ravine had opened through\\nthe cliffs to the amphitheatre but no traces of such opening\\nremained. The rocks presented a high impenetrable wall, over\\nwhich the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam,\\nand fell into a broad deep basin, black from the shadows of the\\nsurrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a\\nstand. He again called and whistled after his dog; he was\\nonly answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting\\nhigh in the air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny preci-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "RIP VAN WINKLE 37\\npice and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down\\nand scoff at the poor man s perplexities. What was to be\\ndone The morning was passing away, and Eip felt famished\\nfor want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog and\\ngun he dreaded to meet his wife but it would not do to\\nstarve among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered\\nthe rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety,\\nturned his steps homeward.\\nAs he approached the village, he met a number of people,\\nbut none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for\\nhe had thought himself acquainted with every one in the\\ncountry round. Their dress, too, was of a different fashion\\nfrom that to which he was accustomed. They all stared at\\nhim with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast\\ntheir eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The con-\\nstant recurrence of this gesture, induced Rip, involuntarily, to\\ndo the same, when, :o his astonishment, he found his beard\\nhad grown a foot long\\nHe had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of\\nstrange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and point-\\ning at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he\\nrecognized for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed.\\nThe very village was altered it was larger and more populous.\\nThere were rows of houses which he had never seen before, and\\nthose which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared.\\nStrange names were over the doors strange faces at the\\nwindows everything was strange. His mind now misgave\\nhim he began to doubt whether both he and the world\\naround him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native\\nvillage, which he had left but the day before. There stood\\nthe Kaatskill mountains there ran the silver Hudson at a\\ndistance there was every hill and dale precisely as it had\\nalways been Rip was sorely perplexed That flagon last\\nnight, thought he, has addled my poor head sadly", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "38 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nIt was with some k difficulty that he found the way to his own\\nhouse, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every\\nmoment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He\\nfound the house gone to decay the roof had fallen in, the win-\\ndows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved\\ndog, that looked like Wolf, was skulking about it. Rip called\\nhim by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed\\non. This was an unkind cut indeed. My very dog, sighed\\npoor Rip, has forgotten me\\nHe entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van\\nWinkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn,\\nand apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his\\nconnubial fears he called loudly for his wife and children\\nthe lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and then\\nall again was silence.\\nHe now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the\\nvillage inn but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden\\nbuilding stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some\\nof them broken, and mended with old hats and petticoats,\\nand over the door was painted, The Union Hotel, by Jonathan\\nDoolittle. Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the\\nquiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall naked\\npole, with something on the top that looked like a red nightcap,\\nand from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assem-\\nblage of stars and stripes all this was strange and incompre-\\nhensible. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of\\nKing George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful\\npipe, but even this was singularly metamorphosed. The red\\ncoat was changed for one of blue and buSfa sword was held\\nin the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was decorated with\\na cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large characters,\\nGeneral Washington.\\nThere was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none\\nthat Rip recollected. The very character of the people seemed", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "RIP VAN WINKLE 39\\nchanged. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about\\nit, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity.\\nHe looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad\\nface, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-\\nsmoke, instead of idle speeches or Van Bummel, the school-\\nmaster, doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. In\\nplace of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets\\nfull of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of\\ncitizens elections members of Congress liberty Bun-\\nker s hill heroes of seventy-six and other words, which\\nwere a perfect Babylonish jargon to the bewildered Van\\nWinkle.\\nThe appearance of Bip, with his long, grizzled beard, his\\nrusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women\\nand children at his heels, soon attracted the attention of the\\ntavern politicians. They crowded round him, eying him from\\nhead to foot, with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to\\nhim, and, drawing him partly aside, inquired, on which side\\nhe voted Rip stared in vacant stupidity. Another short\\nbut busy little fellow pulled him by tiie arm, and rising on\\ntiptoe, inquired in his ear, whether he was Federal or Demo-\\ncrat. Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the question\\nwhen a knowing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked\\nhat, made his way through the crowd, putting them to the right\\nand left with his elbows us he passed, and planting himself\\nbefore Van Winkle, with one arm akimbo, the other resting on\\nhis cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating, as it were,\\ninto his very soul, demanded in an austere tone, What brought\\nhim to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at\\nhis heels and whether he meant to breed a riot in the\\nvillager\\nAlas! gentlemen, cried Rip. somewhat dismayed, I am a\\npoor, quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the\\nKing, God bless him", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "40 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nHere a general shout burst from the bystanders a tory\\na tory a spy a refugee hustle him away with him It\\nwas with great difficulty that the self-important man in the\\ncocked hat restored order and having assumed a tenfold\\nausterity of brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit, what\\nhe came there for, and whom he was seeking. The poor man\\nhumbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came\\nthere in search of some of his neighbors, who used to keep\\nabout the tavern.\\nWell who are they name them.\\nRip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, Where s\\nNicholas Vedder\\nThere was a silence for a little while, when an old man\\nreplied, in a thin, piping voice, Nicholas Vedder why, he is\\ndead and gone these eighteen years There was a wooden\\ntombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about him,\\nbut that s rotten and gone too.\\nWhere s Brom Dutcher?\\nOh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war\\nsome say he was killed at the storming of Stony Point others\\nsay he was drowned in a squall at the foot of Antony s Nose.\\nI don t know he never came back again.\\nWhere s Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?\\nHe went off to the wars, too was a great militia general,\\nand is now in Congress.\\nRip s heart died away, at hearing of these sad changes in his\\nhome and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world.\\nEvery answer puzzled him too, by treating of such enormous\\nlapses of time, and of matters which he could not understand\\nwar Congress Stony Point he had no courage to ask\\nafter any more friends, but cried out in despair, Does nobody\\nhere know Rip Van Winkle 1\\nOh 5 Rip Van Winkle exclaimed two or three. Oh, to be\\nsure that s Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "RIP VAN WINKLE 41\\nKip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as he\\nwent up the mountain apparently as lazy, and certainly as\\nragged. The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He\\ndoubted his owm identity, and whether he w r as himself or an-\\nother man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the\\ncocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name\\nGod knows exclaimed he at his wit s end I m not my-\\nself I m somebody else that s me yonder no that s\\nsomebody else, got into my shoes I was myself last night,\\nbut I fell asleep on the mountain, and they ve changed my gun,\\nand everything s changed, and I m changed, and I can t tell\\nwhat s my name, or who I am\\nThe by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, wink\\nsignificantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads.\\nThere was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keep-\\ning the old fellow from doing mischief; at the very suggestion\\nof which, the self-important man with the cocked hat retired\\nwith some precipitation. At this critical moment a fresh,\\ncomely woman pressed through the throng to get a peep at the\\ngray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, which,\\nfrightened at his looks, began to cry. Hush, Kip, cried she,\\nhush, you little fool; the old man won t hurt you. The\\nname of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice,\\nall awakened a train of recollections in his mind.\\nWhat is your name, my good woman asked he.\\nJudith Gardenier.\\nAnd your father s name\\nAh, poor man, Kip Van Winkle was his name, but it s\\ntwenty years since he went away from home with his gun, and\\nnever has been heard of since, his dog came home without\\nhim but whether he shot himself, or was carried away by the\\nIndians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl.\\nKip had but one more question to ask but he put it with\\na faltering voice", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "42 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nWhere s your mother\\nOh, she, too, had died but a short time since; she broke a\\nblood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New-England pedler.\\nThere was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence.\\nThe honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught\\nhis daughter and her child in his arms. lam your father\\ncried he Young Rip Van Winkle once old Rip Van\\nWinkle now Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle\\nAll stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from\\namong the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under\\nit in his face for a moment exclaimed, Sure enough it is Rip\\nVan Winkle it is himself. Welcome home again, old neigh-\\nbor. Why, where have you been all these twenty long years\\nRip s story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had\\nbeen to him but as one night. The neighbors stared when\\nthey heard it some were seen to wink at each other, and put\\ntheir tongues in their cheeks and the self-important man in\\nthe cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over, had returned\\nto the field, screwed down the corners of his mouth, and shook\\nhis head upon which there was a general shaking of the head\\nthroughout the assemblage.\\nIt was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter\\nVanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road. He\\nwas a descendant of the historian of that name, who wrote one\\nof the earliest accounts of the province. Peter was the most\\nancient inhabitant of the village, and well versed in all the\\nwonderful events and traditions of the neighborhood. He\\nrecollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the most\\nsatisfactory manner. He assured the company that it was a\\nfact, handed down from his ancestor, the historian, that the\\nKaatskill mountains had always been haunted by strange\\nbeings. That it was affirmed that, the great Hendrick Hudson,\\nthe first discoverer of the river and country, kept a kind of\\nvigil there every twenty years, with his crew of the Halfmoon j", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "RIP VAN WINKLE 43\\nbeing permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his enter-\\nprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river and the great\\ncity called by his name. That his father had once seen them\\nin their old Dutch dresses playing at ninepins in a hollow of\\nthe mountain and that he himself had heard, one summer-\\nafternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals of thunder.\\nTo make a long story short, the company broke up, and re-\\nturned to the more important concerns of the election. Kip s\\ndaughter took him home to live with her; she had a snug,\\nwell-furnished house, and a stout cheery farmer for a husband,\\nwhom Eip recollected for one of the urchins that used to climb\\nupon his back. As to Kip s son and heir, who was the ditto\\nof himself, seen leaning against the tree, he was employed to\\nwork on the farm but evinced an hereditary disposition to\\nattend to anything else but his business.\\nRip now resumed his old walks and habits he soon found\\nmany of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for the\\nwear and tear of time f.nd preferred making friends among the\\nrising generation, with whom he soon grew into great favor.\\nHaving nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that\\nhappy age when a man can be idle with impunity, he took his\\nplace once more on the bench, at the inn door, and was rever-\\nenced as one of the patriarchs of the village, and a chronicle of\\nthe old times before the war. It w T as some time before he\\ncould get into the regular track of gossip, or could be made to\\ncomprehend the strange events that had taken place during his\\ntorpor. How that there had been a revolutionary war that\\nthT country had thrown off the yoke of old England and that,\\ninstead of being a subject of his Majesty George the Third, he\\nwas now a free citizen of the United States. Kip, in fact, was\\nno politician the changes of states and empires made but little\\nimpression on him but there was one species of despotism under\\nwhich he had long groaned, and that was petticoat govern-\\nment. Happily, that was at an end he had got his neck out", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "44 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nof the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and out whenevei\\nhe pleased, without dreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle.\\nWhenever her name was mentioned, however, he shook his\\nhead, shrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes; which\\nmight pass either for an expression of resignation to his fate, or\\njoy at his deliverance.\\nHe used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at\\nMr. Doolittle s hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on\\nsome points every time he told it, which was, doubtless, owing\\nto his having so recently awaked. It at last settled down pre-\\ncisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, woman, or\\nchild in the neighborhood, but knew it by heart. Some always\\npretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted that Rip had\\nbeen out of his head, and that this was one point on which he\\nalways remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however,\\nalmost universally gave it full credit. Even to this day, they\\nnever hear a thunder-storm of a summer afternoon about the\\nKaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at\\ntheir game of ninepins and it is a common wish of all hen-\\npecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy\\non their hands, that they might have a quieting draught out\\nof Rip Van Wrinkle s flagon.\\nJSTOTE\\nThe foregoing tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr.\\nKnickerbocker by a little German superstition about the Emperor\\nFrederick der Rotlibart and the Kypphauser mountain the subjoined\\nnote, however, which he had appended to the tale, shows that it is an\\nabsolute fact, narrated with his usual fidelity.\\nThe story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, but\\nnevertheless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of our old\\nDutch settlements to have been very subject to marvellous events and\\nappearances. Indeed, I have heard many stranger stories than this\\nin the villages along the Hudson; all of which were too well authenti-\\ncated to admit of a doubt. I have even talked with Rip Van Winkle\\nmyself, who, when last I saw him, was a very venerable old man, and\\nso perfectly rational and consistent on every other point, that I think\\nno conscientious person could refuse to take this into the bargain; nay,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "RIP VAN WIXKLE 45\\nI have seen a certificate on the subject taken before a country justice,\\nand signed with a cross, in the justice s own handwriting. The story,\\ntherefore, is beyond the possibility of doubt.\\nPOSTSCRIPT\\nThe following are travelling notes from a memorandum-book of Mr.\\nKnickerbocker\\nThe Kaatsberg or Catskill mountains have always been a region full\\nof fable. The Indians considered them the abode of spirits, who influ-\\nenced the weather, spreading sunshine or clouds over the landscape, and\\nsending good or bad hunting seasons. They were ruled by an old squaw\\nspirit, said to be their mother. She dwelt on the highest peak of the\\nCatskills, and had charge of the doors of day and night to open and\\nshut them at the proper hour. She hung up the new moons in the skies,\\nand cut up the old ones into stars. In times of drought, if properly\\npropitiated, she would spin light summer clouds out of cobwebs and\\nmorning dew, and send them off from the crest of the mountain, flake\\nafter flake, like flakes of carded cotton, to float in the air; until, dis-\\nsolved by the heat of the sun, they would fall in gentle showers, causing\\nthe grass to spring, the fruits to ripen, and the corn to grow an inch\\nan hour. If displeased, however, she would brew up clouds black as\\nink, sitting in the midst of them like a bottle-bellied spider in the midst\\nof its web and when these clouds broke, woe betide the valleys\\nIn old times, say the Indian traditions, there was a kind of Manitou\\nor Spirit, who kept about the wildest recesses of the Catskill mountains,\\nand took a mischievous pleasure in wreaking all kinds of evils and\\nvexations upon the red men. Sometimes he would assume the form of\\na bear, a panther, or a deer, lead the bewildered hunter a weary chase\\nthrough tangled forests and among ragged rocks, and then spring off\\nwith a loud ho ho leaving him aghast on the brink of a beetling\\nprecipice or raging torrent.\\nThe favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. It is a great rock\\nor cliff on the loneliest part of the mountains, and, from the flowering\\nvines which clamber about it, and the wild flowers which abound in\\nits neighborhood, is known by the name of the Garden Rock. Xear\\nthe foot of it is a small lake, the haunt of the solitary bittern, with\\nwater-snakes basking in the sun on the leaves of the pond-lilies which\\nlie on the surface. This place was held in great awe by the Indians,\\ninsomuch that the boldest hunter would not pursue his game within\\nits precincts. Once upon a time, however, a banter who had lost his\\nway penetrated to the Garden Rock, where he beheld a number of\\ngourds placed in the crotches of trees. One of these he seized and\\nmade off with it, but in the hurry of his retreat he let it fall among the\\nrocks, when a great stream gushed forth, which washed him away and\\nswept him down precipices, where he was dashed to pieces, and the\\nstream made its way to the Hudson, and continues to flow to the present\\nday, being the identical stream known by the name of the Kaaterskill.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "46 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA\\nMethinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation, rousing her.\\nself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks\\nmethinks I see her as an eagle, mewing her mighty youth, and kindling\\nher endazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam.\\nMilton on the Liberty of the Press.\\nIt is with feelings of deep regret that I observe the literary\\nanimosity daily growing up between England and America.\\nGreat curiosity has been awakened of late with rsspect to\\nthe United States, and the London press has teemed with\\nvolumes of travels through the Republic but they seem\\nintended to diffuse error rather than knowledge and so\\nsuccessful have they been, that, notwithstanding the constant\\nintercourse between the nations, there is no people concerning\\nwhom the great mass of the British public have less pure in-\\nformation, or entertain more numerous prejudices.\\nEnglish travellers are the best and the worst in the world.\\nWhere no motives of pride or interest intervene, none can equal\\nthem for profound and philosophical views of society, or faithful\\nand graphical descriptions of external objects but when either\\nthe interest or reputation of their own country comes in colli-\\nsion with that of another, they go to the opposite extreme, and\\nforget their ,:ual probity and candor, in the indulgence of\\nsplenetic remark, and an illiberal spirit of ridicule.\\nHence, their travels are more honest and accurate, the more\\nremote the country described. I would place implicit confidence\\nin an Englishman s description of the regions beyond th? cata-\\nracts of the Mle of unknown islands in the Yellow Sea of\\nthe interior of India or of any other tract which other travellers\\nmight be apt to picture out with the illusions of their fancies.\\nBut I would cautiously receive his account of his immediate\\nneighbors, and of those nations with which he is in habits of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "ENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA 47\\nmost frequent intercourse. However I might be disposed to\\ntrust his probity, I dare not trust his prejudices.\\nIt has also been the peculiar lot of our country to be visited\\nby the worst kind of English travellers. While men of philo-\\nsophical spirit and cultivated minds have been sent from England\\nzo ransack the poles, to penetrate the deserts, and to study the\\nmanners and customs of barbarous nation? with which she can\\nhave no permanent intercourse of profit or pleasure, it has been\\nleft tc the broken-down tradesman, the scheming adventurer, the\\nwandering mechanic, the Manchester and Birmingham agent, to\\nbe her oracles respecting America. From such sources she is\\ncontent to* receive her information respecting a country in a\\nsingular state of moral and physical development a country\\nin which one of the greatest political experiments in the history\\nof the world is now performing and which presents the most\\nprofound and momentous studies to the statesman and the\\nphilosopher.\\nThat such men should give prejudicial accounts of America\\nis not a matter of surprise. The themes it offers for contempla-\\ntion are too vast and elevated for their capacities. The national\\ncharacter is yet in a state of fermentation it may have its\\nfrothiness and sediment, but its ingredients are sound and\\nwholesome; it has~~already given proofs of powerful and gen-\\nerous qualities; and the whole promises to settle down into\\nsomething substantially excellent. But the causes which are\\noperating to strengthen and ennoble it, and its daily indication\\nof admirable properties, are all lost upon these purblind ob-\\nservers who are only affected by the little asperities incident\\nto its present situation. They are capable of judging only of\\nthe surface of things of those matters which come in contact\\nwith their private interests and personal gratifications. They\\nmiss some of the snug conveniences and pet fy comforts which\\nbelong to an old, highly-finished, and over-populous state of\\nsociety; where the ranks of useful labor are crowded, ancJ", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "48 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nmany earn a painful and servile subsistence by studying the\\nvery caprices of appetite and self-indulgence. These minor\\ncomforts, however, are all-important in the estimation of nar-\\nrow minds which either do not perceive, or will not acknowl-\\nedge, that they are more than counterbalanced among us, by\\ngreat and generally diffused blessings.\\nThey may, perhaps, have been disappointed in some unrea-\\nsonable expectation of sudden gain. They may have pictured\\nAmerica to themselves an El Dorado, where gold and silver\\nabounded, and the natives were lacking in sagacity, and where\\nthey were to become strangely and suddenly rich, in some un-\\nforeseen but easy manner. The same weakness of mind that\\nindulges absurd expectations produces petulance in disappoint-\\nment. Such persons become embittered against the country on\\nfinding that there, as everywhere else, a man must sow before\\nhe can reap must win wealth by industry and talent and\\nmust contend with the common difficulties of nature and the\\nshrewdness of an intelligent and enterprising people.\\nPerhaps, through mistaken or ill-directed hospitality, or from\\nthe prompt disposition to cheer and countenance the stranger\\nprevalent among my countrymen, they may have been treated\\nwith unwonted respect in America; and, having been accus-\\ntomed all their lives to consider themselves below the surface\\nof good society, and brought up in a servile feeling of inferiority,\\nthey become arrogant on the common boon of civility they attrib-\\nute to the lowliness of others their own elevation and under-\\nrate a society where there are no artificial distinctions, and\\nwhere, by any chance, such individuals as themselves can rise\\nto consequence.\\nOne would suppose, however, that information coming from\\nsuch sources, on* a subject where the truth is so desirable, would\\nbe received with caution by the censors of the press that the\\nmotives of these men, their veracity their opportunities of\\ninquiry and observation, and their~ capacities for judging cor", "height": "3399", "width": "2481", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "ENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA 49\\nrectly, would be rigorously scrutinized before their evidence\\nwas admitted, in such sweepiijg~*extent, against a kindred\\nnation. The very reverse, however, is the case, and it fur-\\nnishes a striking instance of human inconsistency. Nothing\\ncan surpass the vigilance with which English critics will\\nexamine the credibility of the traveller who publishes an\\naccount of some chstant and comparatively unimportant coun-\\ntry. How warily will they compare the measurements of a\\npyramid, or tHe descriptions of a ruin and how sternly will\\nthey censure any inaccuracy in these contributions of merely\\ncurious knowledge while they will receive, with eagerness\\nand unhesitating faith, the gross misrepresentations of coarse\\nand obscure writers, concerning a country with which their\\nown is placed in the most important and delicate relations.\\nNay, they will even make these apocryphal volumes text-books,\\non which to enlarge, with a zeal and an ability worthy of a\\nmore generous cause.\\nI shall not, however, dwell on this irksome and hackneyed\\ntopic nor should I have adverted to it, but for the~undue\\ninterest apparently taken in itHby my countrymen, and certain\\ninjurious effects which I apprehended it might produce upon the\\nnational feeling. We attach too much consequence to these\\nattacks. They cannot do us any essential injury. The tissue\\nof misrepresentations attempted to be woven round us are like\\ncobwebs woven round the limbs of an infant giant. Our coun-\\ntry continually outgrows them. One falsehood after another\\nfalls off of itself. We have but to live on, and every day we\\nlive a whole volume of refutation.\\nAll the writers of England united, if we could for a moment\\nsuppose their great minds stooping to so unworthy a combina-\\ntion, could not conceal our rapidly-growing importance and\\nmatchless prosperity. They could not conceal that these are\\nowing, not merely to physical and local, but also to moral\\ncauses -to the political liberty, the general diffusion of", "height": "3459", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "50 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nknowledge, the prevalence of sound moral and religious prin\\nciples, which give torce and sustained energy to the character\\nof a people, and which, in fact, have been the acknowledged and\\nwonderful supporters of their own national power and glory.\\nBut why are we so exquisitely alive to the aspersions of Eng-\\nland Why do we suffer ourselves to be so affected by the\\ncontumely she has endeavored to cast upon us 1 It is not in\\nthe opinion of England alone that honor lives and reputation\\nhas its being. The world at large is the arbiter of a nation s\\nfame with its thousand eyes it witnesses a nation s deeds, and\\nfrom their collective testimony is national glory or national dis-\\ngrace established.\\nFor ourselves, therefore, it is comparatively of but little\\nimportance whether England does us justice or not it is,\\nperhaps, of far more importance to herself. She is instilling\\nanger and resentment ir the bosom of a youthful nation, to\\ngrow with its growth, and strengthen with its strength. If in\\nAmerica, as some of her writers are laboring to convince her,\\nshe is hereafter to find an invidious rival and a gigantic foe,\\nshe may thank those very writers for having provoked rival-\\nship and irritated hostility. Every one knows the all-pervad-\\ning influence of literature at the present day, and how much\\nthe opinions and passions of mankind are under its control.\\nThe mere contests of the sword are temporary their wounds\\nare but in the flesh, and it is the pride of the generous to for-\\ngive and forget them but the slanders of the pen pierce to the\\nheart they rankle longest in the noblest spirits they dwell\\never present in the mind, and render it morbidly sensitive to\\nthe most trifling collision. It is but seldom that any one overt\\nact produces hostilities between two nations; there exists, most\\ncommonly, a previous jealousy and ill-will, a predisposition to\\ntake offence. Trace these to their cause, and how often will\\nthey be found to originate in the mischievous effusions of mer-\\ncenary writers, who, secure in their closets, and for ignominious", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "ENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA 51\\nbread, concoct and circulate the venom that is to inflame the\\ngenerous and the brave\\nI am not laying too much stress upon this point; for it\\napplies most emphatically to our particular case. Over no\\nnation does the press hold a more absolute control than over\\nthe people of America; for the universal education of the\\npoorest classes makes every individual a reader. There is\\nnothing published in England on the subject of our country that\\ndoes not circulate through every part of it. There is not a\\ncalumny dropped from English pen, nor an unworthy sarcasm\\nuttered by an English statesman, that does not go to blight\\ngood-will, and add to the mass of latent resentment. Possess-\\ning, then, as England does, the fountain-head whence the litera-\\nture of the language fl/ows, how completely is it in her power,\\nand how truly is it her duty, to make it the medium of amiable\\nand magnanimous feeling a stream where the two nations\\nmight meet together and drink in peace and kindness. Should\\nshe, however, persist in turning it to waters of bitterness, the time\\nmay come when she may repent her folly. The present friend-\\nship of America may be of but little moment to her but the\\nfuture destinies of that country do not admit of a doubt over\\nthose of England there lower some shadows of uncertainty.\\nShoold, then, a day of gloom arrive should those reverses\\novertake her, from which the proudest empires have not been\\nexempt she may look back with regret at her infatuation,\\nin repulsing from her side a nation she might have grappled\\nto Lef~rjosoin, and thus destroying her only chance for real\\nfriendship beyond the boundaries of her own dominions.\\nThere is a general impression in England, that the people of\\nthe United States are inimical to the parent country. It is\\none of the errors which have been diligently propagated by de-\\nsigning writers. There is, doubtless, considerable political hos-\\ntility, and a general soreness at the illiberality of the English\\npress but, generally speaking, the prepossessions of the people", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "52 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nare strongly in favor of England. Indeed, at one time they\\namounted, in many parts of the Union, to an absurd degree of\\nbigotry. The bare name of Englishman was a passport to the\\nconfidence and hospitality of every family, and too often gave\\na transient currency to the worthless and the ungrateful.\\nThroughout the country there was something of enthusiasm\\nconnected with the idea of England. We looked to it with a\\nhallowed feeling of tenderness and veneration, as the land of\\nour forefathers the august repository of the monuments and\\nantiquities of our race the birthplace and mausoleum of the\\nsages and heroes of our paternal history. After out* own coun-\\ntry, there was none in whose glory we more delighted none\\nwhose good opinion we were more anxious to possess none\\ntoward which our hearts yearned with such throbbings of warm\\nconsanguinity. Even during the late war, whenever there was\\nthe least opportunity for kind feelings to spring forth, it was\\nthe delight of the generous spirits of our country to show that,\\nin the midst of hostilities, they still kept alive the sparks of\\nfuture friendship.\\nIs all this to be at an end Is this golden band of kindred\\nsympathies, so rare between nations, to be broken forever?\\nPerhaps it is for the best it may dispel an illusion which\\nmight have kept us in mental vassalage; which might have\\ninterfered occasionally with our true interests, and prevented\\nthe growth of proper national pride. But it is hard to give up\\nthe kindred tie and there *jre feelings dearer than interest\\ncloser to the heart than pride that will still make us cast\\nback a look of regret as we wander farther and farther from\\nthe paternal roof, and lament the waywardness of the parent\\nthat would repel the affections of the child.\\nShort-sighted and injudicious, however, as the conduct of\\nEngland may be in this system of aspersion, recrimination on\\nour part would be equally ill-judged. I speak not of a prompt\\nand spirited vindication of our country, nor the keenest castiga-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "ENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA 53\\ntion of her slanderers but I allude to a disposition to retaliate\\nin kind, to retort sarcasm and inspire prejudice, which seems to\\nbe spreading widely among our writers. Let us guard particu-\\nlarly against such a temper for it would double the evil, in-\\nstead of redressing the wrong. Nothing is so easy and inviting\\nas the retort of abuse and sarcasm but it is a paltry and an\\nunprofitable contest. It is the alternative of a morbid mind,\\nfretted into petulance, rather than warmed into indignation\\nIf England is willing to permit the mean jealousies of trade, or\\nthe rancorous animosities of politics, to deprave the in teg. ity of\\nher press, and poison the fountain of public opinion, let us be-\\nware of her example. She may deem it her interest to diffuse\\nerror and engender antipathy, for the purpose of checking emi-\\ngration we have no purpose of the kind to serve. Neither\\nhave we any spirit of national jealousy to gratify for as yet,\\nin all our rivalships with England, we are the rising and the\\ngaining party. There can be no end to answer, therefore, but\\nthe gratification of resentment a mere spirit of retaliation\\nand even that is impotent. Our retorts are never republished\\nin England they fall short, therefore, of their aim but they\\nfoster a querulous and peejrish temper among our writers they\\nsour the sweet flow of our early literature, and sow thorns and\\nbrambles among its blossoms. What is still worse, they circu-\\nlate through our own country, and, as far as they have effect,\\nexcite virulent national prejudices. This last is the evil most\\nespecially to be deprecated. Governed, as we are, entirely by\\npublic opinion, the utmost care should be taken to preser T e the\\npurity of the public mind. Knowledge is power, and truth is\\nknowledge; whoever, therefore, knowingly propagates a preju-\\ndice, wilfully saps the foundation of his country s strength.\\nThe members of a republic, above all other men, should be\\ncandid and dispassionate. They are, individually, portions of\\nthe sovereign mind and sovereign will, and should be enabled\\nto come to all questions of national concern with calm and un-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "54 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nbiassed judgments. From the peculiar nature of our relations\\nwith England, we must have more frequent questions of a dif-\\nficult and delicate character with her, than with any other\\nnation, questions that affect the most acute and excitable\\nfeelings and as, in the adjustment of these, our national\\nmeasures must ultimately be determined by popular sentiment,\\nwe cannot be too atfxiously attentive to purify it from all latent\\npassion or prepossession.\\nOpening, too, as we do, an asylum for strangers from every\\nporti n of the earth, we should receive all with impartiality.\\nIt should be our pride to exhibit an example of one nation, at\\nleast, destitute of national antipathies, and exercising, not\\nmerely the overt acts of hospitality, but those more rare and\\nnoble courtesies which spring from liberality of opinion.\\nWhat have we to do with national prejudices? They are\\nthe inveterate diseases of old countries, contracted in rude and\\nignoran\u00c2\u00a3*a ges, when nations knew but little of each other, and\\nlooked beyond their own boundaries with distrust and hostility.\\nWe, on the contrary, have sprung into national existence in an\\nenlightened and philosophic age, when the different parts of\\nthe habitable world, and the various branches of the human\\nfamily, have been indefatigably studied and made known to\\neach other and we forego the advantages of our birth, if we\\ndo not shake off the national prejudices, as we would the local\\nsuperstitions, of the old world.\\nBut above all let us not be influenced by any angry feelings,\\nso far as to shut our eyes to the perception of what is really\\nexcellent and amiable in the English character. We are a\\nyoung people, necessarily an imitative one, and must take our\\nexamples and models, in a great degree, from the existing na-\\ntions of Europe. There is no country more worthy of our study\\nthan England. The spirit of her constitution is most analo-\\ngous to ours. The manners of her people their intellectual\\nactivity, their freedom of opinion, their habits of thinking on", "height": "3459", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "ENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA 55\\nthose subjects which concern the clearest interests and most\\nsacred charities of private life are all congenial to the Ameri-\\ncan character and, in fact, are all intrinsically excellent for\\nit is in the moral feeling of the people that the deep founda-\\ntions of British prosperity are laid and however the super-\\nstructure may be time worn or overrun by abuses, there must\\nbe something solid in the basis, admirable in the materials, and\\nstable in the structure of an edifice that so long has towered\\nunshaken amidst the tempests of the world.\\nLet it be the pride of our writers, therefore, discarding all\\nfeelings of irritation, and disdaining to retaliate the illiberality\\nof British authors, to speak of the English nation without prej-\\nudice, and with determined candor. While they rebuke the\\nindiscriminating bigotry with which some of our countrymen\\nadmire and imitate everything English, merely because it is\\nEnglish, let them frankly point out what is really worthy of\\napprobation. We may thus place England before us as a per-\\npetual volume of reference, wherein are recorded sound deduc-\\ntions from ages of experience and while we avoid the errors\\nand absurdities which may have crept into the page, we may\\ndraw thence golden maxims of practical wisdom, wherewith to\\nstrengthen and to embellish our national character.\\nRURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND\\nOh friendly to the best pursuits of man,\\nFriendly to thought, to virtue and to peace,\\nDomestic life in rural pleasures past\\nCOWPER.\\nThe stranger who would form a correct opinion of the Eng-\\nlish character must not confine his observations to the metrop-\\nolis. He must go forth into the country he must sojourn in\\nvillages and hamlets; he must visit castles, villas, farm-houses.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "56 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ncottages he must wander through parks and gardens, along\\nhedges and green lanes he must loiter about country churches\\nattend wakes and fairs, and other rural festivals and cope with\\nthe people in all their conditions, and all their habits and\\nhumors.\\nIn some countries the large cities absorb the wealth and\\nfashion of the nation they are the only fixed abodes of ele-\\ngant and intelligent society, and the country is inhabited almost\\nentirely by boorish peasantry. In England, on the contrary,\\nthe metropolis is a mere gathering-place, or general rendezvous,\\nof the polite classes, where they devote a small portion of the\\nyear to a hurry of gayety and dissipation, and, having indulged\\nthis kind of carnival, return again to the apparently more\\ncongenial habits of rural life. The various orders of society\\nare therefore diffused over the whole surface of the kingdom,\\nand the most retired neighborhoods afford specimens of the\\ndifferent ranks.\\nThe English, in fact, are strongly gifted with the rural feel-\\ning. They possess a quick sensibility to the beauties of nature,\\nand a keen relish for the pleasures and employments of the\\ncountry. This passion seems inherent in them. Even the in-\\nhabitants of cities, born and brought up among brick walls and\\nbustling streets, enter with facility into rural habits, and evince\\na tact for rural occupation. The merchant has his snug re-\\ntreat in the vicinity of the metropolis, where he often displays\\nas much pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower-garden\\nand the maturing of his fruits as he does in the conduct of his\\nbusiness and the success of a commercial enterprise. Even those\\nless fortunate individuals who are doomed to pass their lives in\\nthe midst of din and traffic contrive to have something that\\nshall remind them of the green aspect of nature. In the most\\ndark and dingy quarters of the city the drawing-room window\\nresembles frequently a bank of flowers every spot capable of\\nvegetation has its grass-plot and flower-bed, and every square", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND 57\\nits mimic park, laid out with picturesque taste and gleaming\\nwith refreshing verdure.\\nThose who see the Englishman only in town are apt to form\\nan unfavorable opinion of his social character. He is either\\nabsorbed in business or distracted by the thousand engagements\\nthat dissipate time, thought, and feeling m this huge metrop-\\nolis. He has, therefore, too commonly, a look of hurry and\\nabstraction. Wherever he happens to be, he is on the point of\\ngoing somewhere else at the moment he is talking on one\\nsubject his mind is wandering to another and while paying a\\nfriendly visit he is calculating how he shall economize time S3\\nas to pay the other visits allotted in the morning. An immense\\nmetropolis, like London, is calculated to make men selfish and\\nuninteresting. In their casual and transient meetings they can\\nbut deal briefly in commonplaces. They present but the cold\\nsuperfices of character its rich and genial qualities have no\\ntime to be warmed into a flow.\\nIt is in the country that the Englishman gives scope to his\\nnatural feelings. He breaks loose gladly from the cold formal-\\nities and negative civilities of town, throws off his habits of\\nshy reserve, and becomes joyous and free-hearted. He manages\\nto collect round him all the conveniences and elegancies of polite\\nlife and to banish its restraints. His country-seat abounds with\\nevery requisite, either for studious retirement, tasteful gratifica-\\ntion, or rural exercise. Books, paintings, music, horses, dogs,\\nand sporting implements of all kinds are at hand. He puts no\\nconstraint either upon his guests or himself, but, in the true\\nspirit of hospitality, provides the means of enjoyment, and leaves\\nevery one to partake according to his inclination.\\nThe taste of the English in the cultivation of land, and in\\nwhat is called landscape gardening, is unrivalled. They have\\nstudied Nature intently, and discovered ah exquisite sense of\\nher beautiful forms and harmonious combinations. Those charms\\nwhich, in other countries, she lavishes in wild solitudes are", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "58 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nhere assembled round the haunts of domestic life. They seem\\nto have caught her coy and furtive graces, and spread them,\\nlike witchery, about their rural abodes.\\nNothing can be more imposing than the magnificence of Eng-\\nlish park scenery. Vast lawns that extend like sheets of vivid\\ngreen, with here and there clumps of gigantic trees, heaping up\\nrich piles of foliage. The solemn pomp of groves and woodland\\nglades, with the deer trooping in silent herds across them the\\nhare, bounding away to the covert or the pheasant, suddenly\\nbursting upon the wing. The brook, taught to wind in natu-\\nral meanderings or expand into a glassy lake the sequestered\\npool, reflecting the quivering trees, with the yellow leaf sleep-\\ning on its bosom and the trout roaming fearlessly about its lim-\\npid waters while some rustic temple, or sylvan statue, grown\\ngreen and dank with age, gives an air of classic sanctity to the\\nseclusion.\\nThese are but a few of the features of park scenery; but\\nwhat most delights me is the creative talent with which the\\nEnglish decorate the unostentatious abodes of middle life. Th^\\nrudest habitation, the most unpromising and scanty portion of\\nland, in the hands of an Englishman of taste, becomes a little\\nparadise. With a nicely discriminating eye, he seizes at once\\nupon its capabilities, and pictures in his mind the future land-\\nscape. The sterile spot grows into loveliness under his hand,\\nand yet the operations of art which produce the effect are\\nscarcely to be perceived. The cherishing and training of some\\ntrees the cautious pruning of others the nice distribution of\\nflowers and plants of tender and graceful foliage the introduc-\\ntion of a green slope of velvet turf the partial opening to a\\npeep of blue distance or silver gleam of water all these are\\nmanaged with a delicate tact, a pervading yet quiet assiduity,\\nlike the magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a\\nfavorite picture.\\nThe residence of people of fortune and refinement in the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND 59\\ncountry has diffused a degree of taste and elegance in rural\\neconomy that descends to the lowest class. The very laborer,\\nwith his thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground, attends to\\ntheir embellishment. The trim hedge, the grass-plot before the\\ndoor, the little flower-bed bordered with snug box, the woodbine\\ntrained up against the wall and hanging its blossoms about the\\nlattice, the pot of flowers in the window, the holly providently\\nplanted about the house to cheat winter of its dreariness, and\\nto throw in a semblance of green summer to cheer the fireside,\\nall these bespeak the influence of taste flowing down from\\nhigh sources and pervading the lowest levels of the public mind.\\nIf ever Love, as poets sing, delights to visit a cottage, it must\\nbe the cottage of an English peasant.\\nThe fondness for rural life among the higher classes of the\\nEnglish has had a great and salutary effect upon the national\\ncharacter. I do not know a finer race of men than the English\\ngentlemen. Instead of the softness and effeminacy which char-\\nacterize the men of rank in most countries, they exhibit a union\\nof elegance and strength, a robustness of frame and freshness of\\ncomplexion, which I am inclinecT to attribute to their living so\\nmuch in the open air, and pursuing so eagerly the invigorating\\nrecreations of the country. The hardy exercises produce also a\\nhealthful tone of mind and spirits, and a manliness and simplic-\\nity of manners, which even the follies and dissipations of the\\ntown cannot easily pervert, and can never entirely destroy. In\\nthe country, too, the different orders of society seem to approach\\nmore freely, to be more disposed to blend and operate favorably\\nupon each other. The distinctions between them do not appear\\nto be so marked and impassable as in the cities. The manner\\nin which property has been distributed into small estates and\\nfarms has established a regular gradation from the noblemen,\\nthrough the classes of gentry, smairtanded proprietors, and sub-\\nstantial farmers, down to the laboring peasantry, and, while it\\nhas thus banded the extremes of society together, has infused", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "^0 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ninto each intermediate rank a spirit of independence. This, it\\nmust be confessed, is not so universally the case at present as\\nit was formerly the larger estates having, in late years of dis-\\ntress, absorbed the smaller, and, in some parts of the country,\\nalmost annihilated the sturdy race of small farmers. These,\\nhowever, I believe, are but casual breaks in the general system I\\nhave mentioned.\\nIn rural occupation there is nothing mean and debasing. It\\nleads a man forth among scenes of natural grandeur and beauty\\nit leaves him to the workings of his own mind, operated upon\\nby the purest and most elevating of external influences. Such\\na man maybe simple and rough, but he cannot be vulgar. The\\nman of refinement, therefore, finds nothing revolting in an inter-\\ncourse with the lower orders in rural life, as he does when he\\ncasually mingles with the lower orders of cities. He lays aside\\nhis distance and reserve, and is glad to w r aive the distinctions of\\nrank, and to enter into the honest, heartfelt enjoyments of com-\\nmon life. Indeed, the very amusements of the country bring\\nmen more and more together, and the sounds of hound and horn\\nblend all feelings into harmony. I believe this is one great rea-\\nson why the nobility and gentry are more popular among the in-\\nferior orders in England than they are in any other country, and\\nwhy the latter have endured so many excessive pressures and\\nextremities, without repining more generally at the unequal\\ndistribution of fortune and privilege.\\nTo this mingling of cultivated and rustic society may also be\\nattributed the rural feeling that runs through British literature\\nthe frequent use of illustrations from rural life those incom-\\nparable descriptions of Nature that abound in the British poets,\\nthat have continued down from The Flower and the Leaf of\\nChaucer, and have brought into our closets all the freshness and\\nfragrance of the dewy landscape. The pastoral writers of other\\ncountries appear as if they had paid Nature an occasional visit,\\nand become acquainted with her general charms but the British", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND 61\\npoets have lived and revelled with her they have wooed her\\nin her most secret haunts they have watched her minutest\\ncaprices. A spray conld not tremble in the breeze a leaf\\ncould not rustle to the ground a diamond drop could not\\npatter in the stream a fragrance could not exhale from the\\nhumble violet, nor a daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morn-\\ning, but it has been noticed by these impassioned and delicate\\nobservers, and wrought up into some beautiful morality.\\nThe effect of this devotion of elegant minds to rural occupa-\\ntions has been wonderful on the face of the country. A great\\npart of the island is rather level, and would be monotonous,\\n-were it not for the charms of culture but it is studded and\\ngemmed, as it were, with castles and palaces, and embroidered\\nwith parks and gardens. It does not abound in grand and sub-\\nlime prospects, but rather in little home scenes of rural repose\\nand sheltered quiet. Every antique farm-house and moss-grown\\ncottage is a picture and as the roads are continually winding,\\nand the view is shut in by groves and hedges, the eye is de-\\nlighted by a continual succession of small landscapes of capti-\\nvating loveliness.\\nThe great charm, however, of English scenery is the moral\\nfeeling that seems to pervade it. It is associated in the mind\\nwith ideas of order, of quiet, of sober, well-established principles,\\nof hoary usage and reverend custom. Everything seems to be\\nthe growth of ages of regular and peaceful existence. The old\\nchurch of remote architecture, with its low, massive portal its\\nGothic tower its windows rich with tracery and painted glass,\\nin s3rupulous preservation its stately monuments of warriors\\nand worthies of the olden time, ancestors of the present lords of\\nthe soil its tombstones, recording successive generations of\\nsturdy yeomanry, whose progeny still plough the same fields,\\nand kneel at the same altar 7 the parsonage, a quaint irregular\\npile, partly antiquated, but repaired and altered in the tastes of\\nvarious ages and occupants the stile and foot-path leading from", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "62 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthe church-yard, across pleasant fields, and along shady hedge\\nrows, according to an immemorial right of way the neighbor-\\ning village, with its venerable cottages, its public green sheltered\\nby trees, under which the forefathers of the present race have\\nsported the antique family mansion, standing apart in some\\nlittle rural domain, but looking down with a protecting air on\\nthe surrounding scene, all these common features of English\\nlandscape evince a calm and settled security, and hereditary\\ntransmission of homebred virtues and local attachments* that\\nspeak deeply and touchingly for the moral character of the\\nnation.\\nIt is a pleasing sight, of a Sunday morning, whqn the bell is\\nsending its sober melody across the quiet fields, to behold the\\npeasantry in their best finery, with ruddy faces and modest\\ncheerfulness, thronging tranquilly along the green lanes to\\nchurch but it is still more pleasing to see them in the even-\\nings, gathering about their cottage doors and appearing to exult\\nin the humble comforts and embellishments which their own\\nhands have spread around them.\\nIt is this sweet home feeling, this settled repose of affection\\nin the domestic scene, that is, after all, the parent of the steadi-\\nest virtues and purest enjoyments and I cannot close these\\ndesultory remarks better than by quoting the words of a\\nmo3ern English poet who has depicted it with remarkable\\nfelicity\\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 hath 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 centre in a little quiet nest\\nAll that desire would fly for through the earth", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "THE BROKEN HEART 63\\nThat can, the world eluding, be itself\\nA world enjoyed that wants no witnesses\\nBut its own sharers, and approving Heaven;\\nThat, like a flower deep hid in rocky cleft,\\nSmiles, though tis looking only at the sky.\u00c2\u00b0\\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.\\nMidpleton,\\nIt is a common practice with those who have outlived the\\nsusceptibility of early feeling, or have been brought up in the\\ngay heaftlessness of dissipated life, to laugh at all love stories,\\nand to treat the tales of romantic passion as mere fictions of\\nnovelists and poets. My observations on human nature have\\ninduced me to think otherwise. They have convinced me that,\\nhowever the surface of the character may be chilled and frozen\\nby the cares of the world, or cultivated into mere smiles by the\\narts of society, still there are dormant fires lurking in the depths\\nof the coldest bosom, which, wBelr once enkindled, become im-\\npetuous, and are sometimes desolating in their effects. Indeed,\\nI am a true believer in the blind deity, and go to the full extent\\nof his doctrines. Shall I confess it? I believe in broken\\nhearts, and the possibility of dying of disappointed love I\\ndo not, however, consider it a malady often fatal to my own\\nsex but I firmly believe that it withers down many a lovely\\nwoman into an early grave.\\nMan is the creature of interest and ambition. His nature\\nleads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. Love\\nis but the embellishment of his early life, or a song piped in the\\nintervals of the acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space\\nin the world s thought and dominion over his fellow-men. But", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "64 THE SKETCH BOOB:\\na woman s whole life is a history of the affections. The heart\\nis her world it is there her ambition strives for empire it is\\nthere her avarice seeks for hidden treasures. She sends forth\\nher sympathies on adventure she embarks her whole soul in\\nthe traffic of affection and if shipwrecked, her case is hopeless,\\nfor it is a bankruptcy of the heart.\\nTo a man, the disappointment of love may occasion some\\nbitter pangs it wounds some feelings of tenderness, it blasts\\nsome prospects of felicity but he is an active being he may\\ndissipate his thoughts in the whirl of varied occupation, or may\\nplunge into the tide of pleasure or, if the scene of disappoint-\\nment be too full of painful associations, he can shift his abode\\nat will, and taking, as it were, the wings of the morning, can\\nfly to the uttermo,- parts of the earth, and be at rest.\\nBut woman s is comparatively a fixed, a secluded, and medita-\\ntive life. She is more the companion of her own thoughts and\\nfeelings and if they are turned to ministers of sorrow, where\\nshall she look for consolation Her lot is to be wooed and won j\\nand if unhappy in her love, her heart is like some fortress that\\nhas been captured and sacked and abandoned and left desolate.\\nHow many bright eyes grow dim, how many soft cheeks\\ngrow pale, how many lovely forms fade away into the tomb,\\nand none can tell the cause that blighted their loveliness As\\nthe clove will clasp its wings to its side, and cover and conceal\\nthe arrow that is preying on its vitals, so is it the nature of\\nwoman to hide from the world the pangs of wounded affection.\\nThe love of a delicate female is always shy and silent. Even\\nwhen fortunate, she scarcely breathes it to herself; but when\\notherwise, she buries it in the recesses of her bosom, and there\\nlets it cower and brood among the ruins of her peace. With\\nher, the desire of the heart has failed the great charm of\\nexistence is at an end. She neglects all the cheerful exercises\\nwhich gladden the spirits, quicken the pulses, and send the tide\\nof life in healthful currents through the veins. Her rest is", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "THE BROKEN HEART 65\\nbroken the sweet refreshment of sleep is poisoned by mel-\\nancholy dreams dry sorrow drinks her blood, until he*\\nenfeebled frame sinks under the slightest external injury. Look\\nfor her after a little while, and you find friendship weeping over\\nher untimely grave, and wondering that one who but lately\\nglowed with all the radiance of health and beauty should so\\nspeedily be brought down to darkness and the worm. 55 You\\nwill be told of some wintiy chill, some casual indisposition,\\nthat laid her low but no one knows of the mental malady\\nwhich previously sapped her strength, and made her so easy a\\nprey to the spoiler.\\nShe is like some tender tree, the pride and beauty of the\\ngrove, graceful in its form, bright in its foliage, but with the\\nworm preying at its heart. We find it suddenly withering,\\nwhen it should be most fresh and luxuriant. We see it droop-\\ning its branches to the earth, and shedding leaf by leaf, until,\\nwasted and perished away, it falls even in the stillness of the\\nforest and as we muse over the beautiful ruin, we strive in\\nvain to recollect the blast or thunderbolt that could have smit-\\nten it with decay.\\nI have seen many instances of women running to waste and\\nself-neglect, and disappearing gradually from the earth, almost\\nas if they had been exhaled to heaven, and have repeatedly\\nfancied that I could trace their deaths through the various de-\\nclensions of consumption, cold, debility, languor, melancholy,\\nuntil I reached the first symptom of disappointed love. But\\nan instance of the kind was lately told to me the circum-\\nstances are well known in the country where they happened,\\nand I shall but give them in the manner in which they were\\nrelated.\\nEvery one must recollect the tragical story of young E\\nthe Irish patriot; it was too touching to be soon forgotten\\nDuring the troubles in Ireland he was tried, condemned, and\\nexecuted, on a charge of treason. His fate made a deep im-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "66 THE SKETCH BOOK\\npression on public sympathy. He was so young, so intelligent,\\nso generous, so brave so everything that we are apt to like\\nin a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty\\nand intrepid. The noble indignation with which he repelled\\nthe chafge of treason against his country, the eloquent vindica-\\ntion of his name, and his pathetic appeal to posterity in the\\nhopeless hour of condemnation, all these entered deeply into\\nevery generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern\\npolicy that dictated his execution.\\nBut there was one heart whose anguish it would be impos-\\nsible to describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes he haa\\nwon the affections of a beautiful and interesting girl, the\\ndaughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him\\nwith the disinterested fervor of a woman s first and early love.\\nWhen every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him when,\\nblasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around\\nhis name, she loved him the more ardently for his very suffer-\\nings. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of\\nhis foes, what must have been the agony of her whose whole\\nsoul was occupied by his image Let those tell who have had\\nthe portals of the tomb suddeuly closed between them and the\\nbeing they most loved on earth who have sat at its thresh-\\nold, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, whence all that\\nwas most lovely and loving had departed.\\nBut then the horrors of such a grave so frightful, so dis-\\nhonored There was nothing for memory to dwell on that\\ncould soothe the pang of separation none of those tender,\\nthough melancholy circumstances which endear the parting\\nscene nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent\\nlike the dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the parting hour\\nof anguish.\\nTo render her widowed situation more desolate, she had in-\\ncurred her father s displeasure by her unfortunate attachment,\\nantTwas an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sym-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "THE BROKEN HEART 67\\npathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked\\nand driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want\\nof consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous\\nsensibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions were\\npaid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led\\ninto society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and\\namusement to dissipate her grief and wean her from the tragi-\\ncal story of her lovesT But it was all in vain. There are some\\nstrokes of calamity which scathe and scorch the soul which\\npenetrate to the vital seat^of happiness, and blast it, never\\nagain to put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to fre-\\nquent the haunts of pleasure, but was as much alone there as\\nin the depths of solitude, walking about in a sad revery, appar-\\nently unconscious of the world around her. She carried with\\nher an inward woe that mocked at all the blandishments of\\nfriendship, and heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he\\nnever so wisely.\\nThe person who told me her story had seen her at a masquer-\\nade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more\\nstriking and painful than to meet it in such a scene to find it\\nwandering like a spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around is\\ngay to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, and look-\\ning so wan and woe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the\\npoor heart into momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After stroll-\\ning through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an air of\\nutter abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of an orches-\\ntra, and, looking about for some time with a vacant air, that\\nshowed her insensibility to the garish scene, she began, with\\nthe capriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive\\nair. She had an exquisite voice but on this occasion it was so\\nsimple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretched-\\nness that she drew a crowd, mute and silent, around her and\\nunited every one into tears.\\nThe story of one so true and tender could not but excite great", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "68 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ninterest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely\\nwon the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her,\\nand thought that one so true to the dead could not but prove\\naffectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for her\\nthoughts were irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her\\nformer lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He solic-\\nited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by\\nher conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute\\nand dependent situation, for she was existing on the kindness\\nof friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her\\nhand, though with the solemn assurance that her heart was un-\\nalterably another s.\\nHe took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene\\nmight wear out the remembrance of early woes. She was an\\namiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy\\none but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy\\nthat had entered into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow,\\nbut hopeless decline, and at length sunk into the grave, the vic-\\ntim of a broken heart.\\nIt was on her that Moore, the distinguished Irish poet, com\\nposed the following lines\\nShe is far from the land where her young hero sleeps\\nAnd lovers around her are sighing:\\nBut 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 awaking\\nAh! little they think, who delight in her strains,\\nHow the heart of the minstrel is breaking\\nHe had lived for his love 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": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "THE ART OF BOOK-MAKING 69\\nTHE ART OF BOOK-MAKING\\nIf that severe doom of Synesius be true, It is a greater offence to\\niteal dead men s labor, than their clothes, what shall become of most\\nwriters?\\nBurton s Anatomy of Melancholy.\\nI have often wondered at the extreme fecundity of the press,\\nand how it comes to pass that so many heads, on which Nature\\nseemed to have inflicted the curse of barrenness, should teem\\nwith voluminous productions. As a man travels on, however,\\nin the journey of life, his objects of wonder daily diminish, and\\nhe is continually finding out some very simple cause for some\\ngreat matter of marvel. Thus have I chanced, in my peregrina-\\ntions about this great metropolis, to blunder upon a scenig which\\nunfolded to me some of the mysteries of the book-making craft,\\nand at once put an end to my astonishment.\\nI was one summer s day loitering through the great saloons of\\nthe British Museum, with that listlessness with which one is\\napt to saunter about a museum in warm weather sometimes\\nlolling over the glass cases of minerals, sometimes studying the\\nhieroglyphics on an Egyptian mummy, and sometimes trying,\\nwith nearly equal success, to comprehend the allegorical paint-\\nings on the lofty ceilings. Whilst I was gazing about in this\\nidle way my attention was attracted to a distant door at the end\\nof a suite of appartments. It was closed, but every now and then\\nit would open, and some strange-favored being, generally clothed\\nin black, would steal forth and glide through the rooms without\\nnoticing any of the surrounding objects. There was an air of\\nmystery about this that piqued my languid curiosity, and I deter-\\nmined to attempt the passage of that strait and to explore the\\nunknown regions beyond. The door yielded to my hand with\\nthat facility with which the portals of enchanted castles yield to", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "70 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthe adventurous knight-errant. I found myself in a spacious\\nchamber, surrounded with great cases of venerable books.\\nAbove the cases, and just under the cornice, were arranged a\\ngreat number of black-looking portraits of ancient authors.\\nAbout the room were placed long tables, with stands for read-\\ning and writing, at which sat many pale, studious personages,\\nporing intently over dusty volumes, rummaging among mouldy\\nmanuscripts, and taking copious notes of their contents. A\\nhushed stillness reigned through this mysterious apartment,\\nexcepting that you might hear the racing of pens over sheets\\nof paper, and occasionally the deep sigh of one of these sages\\nas he shifted his position to turn over the page of an old folio,\\ndoubtless arising from that hollowness and flatulency incident\\nto learned research.\\nNow and then one of these personages would write some-\\nthing on a small slip of paper and ring a bell, whereupon a\\nfamiliar would appear, take the paper in profound silence, glide\\nout of the room, and return shortly loaded with ponderous\\ntpmes, upon which the other would fall, tooth and nail, with\\nfciinished voracity. I had no longer a doubt that I had happened\\nupon a body oimagi, deeply engaged in the study of occult sciences.\\nThe scene reminded me of an old Arabian tale of a philosopher\\nshut up in an enchanted library, in the bosom of a mountain,\\nwhich opened only once a year where he made the spirits of the\\nplace bring him books of all kinds of dark knowledge, so that\\nat the end of the year, when the magic portal once more swung\\nopen on its hinges, he issued forth so versed in forbidden lore\\nas to be able to soar above the heads of the multitude, and To\\ncontrol the powers of Nature.\\nMy curiosity being now fully aroused, I whispered to one of\\nthe familiars, as he was about to leave the room, and begged an\\ninterpretation of the strange scene before me. A few words\\nwere sufficient for the purpose. I found that these mysterious\\npersonages, whom I had mistaken for magi, were principally au-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "THE ART OF BOOK-MAKING 71\\nthors, and in the very act of manufacturing books. I was, in\\nfact, in the reading-room of the great British Library, an im-\\nmense collection of volumes of all ages and languages, many of\\nwhich are now forgotten, and most of which are seldom read one\\nof these sequestered pools of obsolete literature to which modern\\nauthors repair, and draw buckets full of classic lore, or pure\\nEnglish undefiled, wherewith to swell their own scanty rills of\\nthought.\\nBeing now in possession of the secret, I sat down in a corner\\nand watched the process of this book manufactory. I noticed\\none lean, bilious-looking wight, who sought none but the most\\nworm-eaten volumes, printed in black letter. He was evidently\\nconstructing some work of profound erudition, that would be\\npurchased by every man who wished fiobe thought learned,\\nplaced upon a conspicuous shelf of his library or laid open upon\\nhis table but never read. I observed him, now and then,\\ndraw a large fragment of biscuit out of his pocket, and gnaw\\nwhether it was his dinner, or whether he was endeavoring to\\nkeep off that exhaustion of the stomach produced by much pon-\\ndering over dry works, I leave to harder students than myself\\nto determine.\\nThere was one darjper little gentleman in bright-colored clothes,\\nwith a chirping, gossiping expression of countenance, who had\\nall the appearance of an author on good terms with his book-\\nseller. After considering him attentively, I recognized in him\\na diligent getter-up of miscellaneous works, which bustled off\\nwell with the trade. I was curious to see how he manufac-\\ntured his wares. He made more stir and show of business than\\nany of the others, dipping into various books, flattering over\\nthe leaves of manuscripts, taking a morsel out of one, a morsel\\nout of another, line upon line, precept upon precept, here a\\nlittle and there a little. The contents of his book seemed to\\nbe as heterogeneous as those of the witches cauldron in Macbeth.\\nIt was here a finger and there a thumb, toe of frog and blind", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "72 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nworm s sting, with his own gossip poured in like baboon s\\nblood, to mak\\\\ the medley slab and good.\\nAfter all, thought I, may not this pilfering disposition be\\nimplanted in authors for wise purposes may it not be the way\\nin which Providence has taken care that the seeds of knowledge\\nand wisdom shall be preserved from age to age, in spite of the\\ninevitable decay of the works in which they were first produced 1\\nWe see that Nature has wisely, though whimsically, provided\\nfor the conveyance of seeds from clime to clime^in the maws of\\ncertain birds so that animals which, in themselves, are Tittle\\nbetter than carrion, and apparently the lawless plunderers of the\\norchard and corn-fields, are, in fact, Nature s carriers to disperse\\nand perpetuate her blessings. In like manner, the bdauties\\nand fine thoughts of ancient and obsolete authors are caught up\\nby these flights of predatory writers, and cast forth, again to\\nflourish and bear fruit irTa remote and distant tract of time.\\nMany of their works, also, undergo a kind of metempsychosis,\\nand spring up under new forms. What was formerly a ponderous\\nhistory revives in the shape of a romance, an old legend changes\\ninto a modern play, and a sober philosophical treatise furnishes\\nthe body for -a whole series jf bouncing and sparkling essays.\\nThus it is in the clearing of our American woodlands where\\nw r e burn down a forest of stately pines, a progeny of dwarf oaks\\nstart up in their place, and we never see theprostrateTrunk of\\na tree mouldering into soil but gives birth to a whole tribe of\\nfungi.\\nLet us not then lament over the decay and oblivion into\\nwhich ancient writers descend they do but submit to the\\ngreat law of Nature, which declares that all sublunary shapes\\nof matter shall be limited. in their d urat ion, but which decrees,\\nalso, that their element shall never perish. Generation after\\ngeneration, both in animal and vegetable life, passes away, but\\nthe vital principle is transmitted to pos^ejdty, and the species\\ncontinue to flourish. Thus, also, do authors beget authors, and,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "THE ART OF BOOK-MAKING 73\\nhaving produced a numerous progeny, in a good old age they\\nsleep with their fathers that is to say, with the authors w T ho\\npreceded them, and from whom they had stolen.\\nWhilst I was indulging in these rambling fancies I had leaned\\nmy head against a pile of reverend folios. Whether it was\\nowing to the soporific emanations from these w 7 orks, or to the\\nprofound quiet aT the room, or to the lassitude arising from\\nmuch wandering, or to an unlucky habit of happing at improper\\ntimes and places with which I am grievously afflicted, so it was\\nthat I fell into a doze. Still, however, my imagination con-\\ntinued busy, and indeed the same scene remained before my\\nmind s eye, only a little changed in some of the details. I\\ndreamt that the chamber was still decorated with the portraits\\nof ancient authors, but that the number was increased. The\\nlong tables had disappeared, and in place of the sage magi, I\\nbeheld a ragged, threadbare throng such as may be seen plying\\nabout the great repository of cast-off clothes, Monmouth Street.\\nWhenever they seized upon a book, by one of those incongruities\\ncommon to dreams, methought it turned into a garment of\\nforeign or antique fashion, with which they proceeded to e quip\\nthemselves. I noticed, however, that no one pretended to\\nclothe himself from any particular suit, but took a sleeve from\\none, a cape from another, a skirt from a third, thus decking\\nhimself out pieggrneal, while some of his original rags would\\npeep out from among his borrowed finery.\\nThere was a portly, rosy, well-fed parson whom I observed\\nogling several mouldy polemical writers through an eyeglass.\\nHe soon contrived to slip on the voluminous mantle of one of\\nthe old fathers, and, having purloined the gray beard of another,\\nendeavored to look exceedingly wise but the smirking common-\\nplace of his countenance set at naught all the trappings of\\nwisdom. One sickly-looking gentleman was busy embroidering\\na very flimsy garment with gold thread drawn out of several\\nold court-dresses of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Another", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "74 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nhad trimmed himself magnificently from an illuminated manu-\\nscript, had stuck a nosegay in his bosom, culled from The\\nParadise of Dainty Devfe and having put Sir Philip Sidney s\\nhat on one side of his head, strutted off with an exquisite air\\nof vulgar elegance. A third, wTfif was but of puny dimensions,\\nhad bolstered himself out bravely with the spoils from several\\nobscure ^tracts of philosophy, so that he had a very imposing\\nfront, but he was lamentably tattered in rear, and I perceived\\nthat he had patched his small-cloffies with scraps of parchment\\nfrom a Latin author.\\nThere were some well-dressed gentlemen, it is true, who only\\nhelped themselves to a gem or so, which sparkled among their\\nown ornaments, without eclipsing them. Some, too, seemed to\\ncontemplate the costumes oHthe old writers merely to imbibe\\ntheir principles of taste, and to catch their air and spirit JHBut\\nI grieve to say that too many were apt to array themselves,\\nfrom top to toe, in the patch-work manner I have mentioned.\\nI shall not omit to speak of one genius, in drab breeches and\\ngaiters and an Arcadian hat, who had a violent propensity to\\nthe pastoral, but whose rural wanderings had been confined to\\nthe classic haunts of Primrose Hill and the solitudes of the\\nRegent s Park. He had decked himself in wreaths and ribbons\\nfrom all the old pastoral poets, and hanging his head on one\\nside, went about with a fantastical, lackadaisical air, babbling\\nabout green fields. But the personage that most struck my\\nattention was a pragmatical old gentleman in clerical robes,\\nwith a remarkably large and square but bald head. He entered\\nthe room wheezing and puffing, elbowed his way through the\\nthrong with a look of sturdy self-confidence, and having laid\\nhands upon a thick Greek quarto, clapped it upon his head, and\\nswept, majestically away in a formidable frizzled wig.\\nIn the height of this literary masquerade a cry suddenly\\nresounded from every side of Thieves thieves I looked,\\nand lo the portraits about the walls became animated J The", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "THE ART OF BOOK-MAKING 75\\nold authors thrust out, first a head, then a shoulder, from the\\ncanvas, looked down curiously for an instant upon the motley\\nthrong, and then descended, with fury in their eyes, to claim\\ntheir rifled property. The scene of scampering and hubbub\\nthat ensued baffles all description. The unhappy culprits~en-\\ndeavored in vain to escape with their plunder. On one side\\nmight be seen half a dozen old monks, stripping a modern pro-\\nfessor on another, there was sad devastation carried into the\\nranks of modern dramatic writers. Beaumont and Fletcher,\\nside by side, raged round the field like Oa\u00c2\u00a9tor and Pollux, and\\nsturdy Ben Jonson enacted more wonders than when a volun-\\nteer with the army in Flanders. As to the dapper little com-\\npiler of farragos mentioned some time since, Ee had arrayed\\nhimself in alTmany patches and colors as harlequin, and there\\nwas as fierce a contention of claimants about him as about the\\ndead body of Patroclus. I was* grieved to see many men, to\\nwhom I had been accustomed to look up with awe and rever-\\nence, fain to steal off with scarce a rag to cover their nakedness.\\nJust then my eye was caught by the pragmatical old gentleman\\nin the Greek grizzled wig, who was scrambling away in sore\\naffright with half a score of authors in full cry after him.\\nThey were close upon his haunches in a twinkling off went\\nhis wig; *at every turn some strip of raiment was peeled away,\\nuntil in a few moments, from his domineering pomp, he shrunk\\ninto a little, pursy, fcC chopp d bald sKot, and^made his exit\\nwith only a few tags and rags fluttering at his back.\\nThere was something so ludicrous in the catastrophe of this\\nlearned Theban that I burst into an immoderate fit of laughter,\\nwhich broke the whole illusion. The tumult and the scuffle\\nwere at an end. The chamber resumed its usual appearance.\\nThe old authors shrunk back into their picture-frames, and\\nhung in shadowy solemnity along the walls. In short, I found\\nmyself wide awake in my corner, with the whole assemblage of\\nbookworms gazing at me with astonishment. Nothing of the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "76 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ndream had been real but my burst of laughter, a sound nevet\\nbefore heard in that grave sanctuary, and so abhorrent to the\\nears of wisdom as to electrify the Traternity.\\nThe librarian now stepped up to mef and demanded whether\\nI had a card of admission. At first I did not comprehend him,\\nbut I soon found that the library was a kind of literary pre-\\nserve, subject to game-laws, and that no one must presume to\\nhunt there without special license and permission. In a word,\\nI htood convicted of being an arrant poacher, and was glad to\\nmake a precipitate retreat, lest I should have a whole pack of\\nauthors let loose upon me.\\nA ROYAL POET\\nThough your body be confined\\nAnd soft love a prisoner bound,\\nYet the beauty of your mind\\nNeither check nor chain hath found.\\nLook out nobly, then, and dare\\nEven the fetters that you wear.\\nFletcher.\\nOn a soft sunny morning in the genial month of May I made\\nan excursion to Windsor Oastle. It is a place full of storied\\nand poetical associations. The very external aspect of the\\nproud old pile is enough to inspire high thought. It rears its\\nirregular walls and massive towers, like a mural crown round\\nthe brow of a lofty ridge, waves its royal banner in the clouds,\\nand looks down with a lordly air upon the surrounding world.\\nOn this morning the weather was of that voluptuous vernal\\nkind which calls forth all the latent romance of a man s temper-\\nament, filling his mind with music, and disposing him to quote\\npoetry and dream of beauty. In wandering through the mag-\\nnificent saloons and long echoing galleries of the castle I passed\\nwith indifference by whole rows of portraits of warriors and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "A ROYAL POET 77\\nstatesmen, but lingered in the chamber where hang the like-\\nnesses of the beauties which graced the gay court of Charles\\nthe Second; and as I gazed upon them, depicted with amorous,\\nhalf-dishevelled tresses, and the sleepy eye of love, I blessed the\\npencil of Sir Peter Lely,\u00c2\u00b0 which had thus enabled me to bask\\nin the reflected rays of beauty. In traversing also the large\\ngreen courts, with sunshine beaming on the gray walls and\\nglancing along the velvet turf, my mind was engrossed with the\\nimage of the tender, the gallant, but hapless Surrey, and his\\naccount of his loiterings about them in his stripling days, when\\nenamoured 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 visited the\\nancient keep of the castle, where James the First of Scotland,\\nthe pride and theme of Scottish poets and historians, was for\\nmany years of his youth detained a prisoner of state. It is a\\nlarge gray tower, that has stood the brunt of ages, and is still\\nin good preservation. It stands on a mound which elevates it\\nabove the other parts of the castle, and a great flight of steps\\nleads to the interior. In the armory, a Gothic hall furnished\\nwith weapons of various kinds and ages, I was shown a coat of\\narmor hanging against the wall, which had once belonged to\\nJames. Hence I was conducted up a staircase to a suite of\\napartments of faded magnificence, hung with storied tapestry,\\nwhich formed his prison, and the scene of that passionate and\\nfanciful amour, which has woven into the web of his story the\\nmagical hues of poetry and fiction.\\nThe whole history of this amiable but unfortunate prince is\\nhighly romantic. At the tender age of eleven he was sent from\\nhome by his father, Eobert III., and destined for the French\\ncourt, to be reared under the eye of the French monarch, secure\\nfrom the treachery and danger that surrounded the royal house", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "78 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nof Scotland. It was his mishap, in the course of his voyage, to\\nfall into the hands of the English, and he was detained prisoner\\nby Henry IV., notwithstanding that a truce existed between the\\ntwo countries.\\nThe intelligence of his capture, coming in the train of many\\nsorrows and disasters, proved fatal to his unhappy father.\\nThe news, we are told, was brought to him while at sup-\\nper, and did so overwhelm him with grief that he was almost\\nready to give up the ghost into the hands of the servant that\\nattended him. But being carried to his bed-chamber, he ab-\\nstained from all food, and in three days died of hunger and\\ngrief at Rothesay.\\nJames was detained in captivity above eighteen years but,\\nthough deprived of personal liberty, he was treated with the\\nrespect due to his rank. Care was taken to instruct him in all\\nthe branches of useful knowledge cultivated at that period, and\\nto give him those mental and personal accomplishments deemed\\nproper for a prince. Perhaps in this respect his imprisonment\\nwas an advantage, as it enabled him to apply himself the more\\nexclusively to his improvement, and quietly to imbibe that\\nrich fund of knowledge and to cherish those elegant tastes which\\nhave given such a lustre to his memory. The picture drawn of\\nhim in early life by the Scottish historians is highly captivating,\\nand seems rather the description of a hero of romance than of\\na character in real history. He was well learnt, we are told,\\nto fight with the sword, to joust, to tourney, to wrestle, to\\nsing and dance he was an expert mediciner, right crafty in\\nplaying both of lute and harp, and sundry other instruments of\\nmusic, and was expert in grammar, oratory, and poetry.\\nWith this combination of manly and delicate accomplishments,\\nfitting him to shine both in active and elegant life, and calcu-\\nlated to give him an intense relish for joyous existence, it must\\nhave been a severe trial, in an age of bustle and chivalry, to\\npass the spring-time of his years in monotonous captivity. It", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "A ROYAL POET 79\\nwas the good fortune of James, however, to be gifted with a\\npowerful poetic fancy, and to be visited in his prison by the\\nchoicest inspirations of the muse. Some minds corrode and\\ngrow inactive under the loss of personal liberty; others grow\\nmorbid and irritable; but it is the nature of the poet to\\nbecome tender and imaginative in the loneliness of confinement.\\nHe banquets upon the honey of his own thoughts, and, like the\\ncaptive bird, pours forth his soul in 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 imagination, that it\\nis irrepressible, unconfinable that when the real world is shut\\nout, it can create a world for itself, and, with a necromantic\\npower, can conjure up glorious shapes and forms and brilliant\\nvisions to make solitude populous and irradiate the gloom of\\nthe dungeon. Such was the world of pomp and pageant that\\nlived round Tasso in his dismal cell at Ferrara, when he con-\\nceived the splendid scenes of his Jerusalem and we may\\nconsider TJie King s Quair, composed by James during his\\ncaptivity at Windsor, as another of those beautiful breakings\\nforth of the soul from the restraint and gloom of the prison-\\nhouse.\\nThe subject of the poem is his love for the lady Jane Beau-\\nfort, daughter of the Earl of Somerset, and a princess of the\\nblood-royal of England, of whom he became enamoured in the\\ncourse of his captivity. What gives it a peculiar value is that\\nit may be considered a transcript of the royal bard s true feel-\\nings and the story of his real loves and fortunes. It is not\\noften that sovereigns write poetry or that poets deal in fact.\\nIt is gratifying to the pride of a common man to find a monarch", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "80 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthus suing, as it were, for admission into his closet, and seeking\\nto win his favor by administering to his pleasures. It is a proof\\nof the honest equality of intellectual competition, which strips\\noff all the trappings of factitious dignity, brings the candidate\\nclown to a level with his fellow-men, and obliges him to depend\\non his own native powers for distinction. It is curious, too, to\\nget at the history of a monarch s heart, and to find the simple\\naffections of human nature throbbing under the ermine. But\\nJames had learnt to be a poet before he was a king; he was\\nschooled in adversity and reared in the company of his own\\nthoughts. Monarchs have seldom time to parley with their\\nhearts or to meditate their minds into poetry and had James\\nbeen brought up amidst the adulation and gayety of a court, we\\nshould never, in all probability, have had such a poem as the\\nQuair.\\nI have been particularly interested by those parts of the\\npoem which breathe his immediate thoughts concerning his\\nsituation or which are connected with the apartment in the\\nTower. They have thus a personal and local charm, and are\\ngiven with such circumstantial truth as to make the reader\\npresent with the captive in his prison and the companion of\\nhis meditations.\\nSuch is the account which he gives of his weariness of spirit,\\nand of the incident which first suggested the idea of writing the\\npoem. It was the still mid-watch of a clear moonlight night\\nthe stars, he says, were twinkling as fire in the high vault of\\nheaven, and Cynthia rinsing her golden locks in Aquarius.\\nHe lay in bed wakeful and restless, and took a book to beguile\\nthe tedious hours. The book he chose was Boetius Consolations\\nof Philosophy, a work popular among the writers of that day,\\nand which had been translated by his great prototype, Chaucer.\\nFrom the high eulogium in which he indulges it is evident this\\nwas one of his favorite volumes while in prison and indeed it\\nis an admirable text -book for meditation under adversity. It", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "A ROYAL POET\\nis the legacy of a noble and enduring spirit, purified by sorrow\\nand suffering, bequeathing to its successors in calamity the\\nmaxims of sweet morality and the trains of eloquent but simple\\nreasoning, by which it was enabled to bear up against the various\\nills of life. It is a talisman, which the unfortunate may treas-\\nure up in his bosom, or, like the good King James, lay upon his\\nnightly pillow.\\nAfter closing the volume he turns its contents over in his\\nmind, and gradually falls into a fit of musing on the fickleness\\nof fortune, the vicissitudes of his own life, and the evils that had\\novertaken him even in his tender youth. Suddenly he hears the\\nbell ringing to matins, but its sound, chiming in with his melan-\\ncholy fancies, seems to him like a voice exhorting him to write\\nhis story. In the spirit of poetic errantry he determines to com-\\nply with this intimation he therefore takes pen in hand, makes\\nwith it a sign of the cross to implore a benediction, and sallies\\nforth into the fairy-land of poetry. There is something extremely\\nfanciful in all this, and it is interesting as furnishing a striking\\nand beautiful instance of the simple manner in which whole\\ntrains of poetical thought are sometimes awakened and literary\\nenterprises suggested to the mind.\\nIn the course of his poem he more than once bewails the\\npeculiar hardness of his fate, thus doomed to lonely and inactive\\nlife, and shut up from the freedom and pleasure of the world\\nin which the meanest animal indulges unrestrained. There is\\na sweetness, however, in his very complaints they are the\\nlamentations of an amiable and social spirit at being denievl\\nthe indulgence of its kind and generous propensities there is\\nnothing in them harsh nor exaggerated they flow with a nat-\\nural and touching pathos, and are perhaps rendered more\\ntouching by their simple brevity. They contrast finely with\\nthose elaborate and iterated repinings which we sometimes meet\\nwith in poetry, the effusions of morbid minds sickening under\\nmiseries of their own creating, and venting their bitterness upon", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "82 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nan unoffending world. James speaks of his privations with\\nacute sensibility, but having mentioned them passes on, as if\\nhis manly mind disdained to brood over unavoidable calamities.\\nWhen such a spirit breaks forth into complaint, however brief,\\nwe are aware how great must be the suffering that extorts the\\nmurmur. We sympathize with James, a romantic, active, and\\naccomplished prince, cut off in the lustihood of youth from all\\nthe enterprise, the noble uses, and vigorous delights of life, as\\nwe do with Milton, alive to all the beauties of nature and glories\\nof art, when he breathes forth brief but deep-toned lamentations\\nover his perpetual blindness.\\nHad not James evinced a deficiency of poetic artifice, we\\nmight almost have suspected that these lowerings of gloomy re-\\nflection were meant as preparative to the brightest scene of his\\nstory, and to contrast with that refulgence of light and loveliness,\\nthat exhilarating accompaniment of bird and song, and foliage\\nand flower, and all the revel of the year, with which he ushers\\nin the lady of his heart. It is this scene, in particular, which\\nthrows all the magic of romance about the old castle keep. He\\nhad risen, he says, at daybreak, according to custom, to escape\\nfrom the dreary meditations of a sleepless pillow. Bewailing\\nin his chamber thus alone, despairing of all joy and remedy,\\nfor, tired of thought and woe-begone, he had wandered to the\\nwindow to indulge the captive s miserable solace of gazing wist-\\nfully upon the world from which he is excluded. The window\\nlooked forth upon a small garden which lay at the foot of the\\ntower. It was a quiet, sheltered spot, adorned with arbors and\\ngreen alleys, and protected from the passing gaze by trees and\\nhawthorn hedges.\\nNow was there made fast by the tower s wall,\\nA garden 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,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "A ROYAL POET 83\\nThat lyf was none, walkyng there forbye,\\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 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 was in bloom,\\nand he interprets the song of the nightingale into the language\\nof his enamoured feeling\\nWorship, all ye that lovers be, this May\\nFor of your bliss the kalends have 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 notes of the birds,\\nhe gradually relapses into one of those tender and undefinable\\nreveries which fill the youthful bosom in this delicious season.\\nHe wonders what this love may be of which he has so often\\nread, and which thus seems breathed forth in the quicker] ing\\nbreath of May, and melting all nature into ecstasy and song. If\\nit really be so great a felicity, and if it be a boon thus generally\\ndispensed to the most insignificant beings, why is he alone cut\\noff 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 iu books do find;\\nMay he oure hertes setten and unbynd\\nHath he upon oure hertes such maistrye\\nOr is all this but feymit fantasye?", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "84 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nFor giff he be of so grete excellence\\nThat he of every wight hath care and charge,\\nWhat have I gilt 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 downward, he\\nbeholds the fairest and the freshest young floure that ever\\nhe had seen. It is the lovely Lady Jane, walking in the garden\\nto enjoy the beauty of that fresh May morrowe. Breaking\\nthus suddenly upon his sight in a moment of loneliness and\\nexcited susceptibility, she at once captivates the fancy of the ro-\\nmantic prince, and becomes the object of his wandering wishes,\\nthe sovereign of his ideal world.\\nThere is, in this charming scene, an evident resemblance to\\nthe early part of Chaucer s Knight s Tale, where Palamon\\nand Arcite fall in love with Emilia, whom they see walking in\\nthe garden of their prison. Perhaps the similarity of the actual\\nfact to the incident which he had read in Chaucer may have in-\\nduced James to dwell on it in his poem. His description of the\\nLady Jane is given in the picturesque and minute manner of his\\nmaster, and, being doubtless taken from life, is a perfect portrait\\nof a beauty of that day. He dwells with the fondness of a\\nlover on every article of her apparel, from the net of pearl splen-\\ndent with emeralds and sapphires, that confined her golden hair,\\neven to the goodly ehaine of small orfeverye about her neck,\\nwhereby there hung a ruby in shape of a heart, that seemed, he\\nsays, like a spark of fire burning upon her white bosom. Her\\ndress of white tissue was looped up to enable her to walk with\\nmore freedom. She was accompanied by two female attendants,\\nand about her sported a little hound decorated with bells prob-\\nably the small Italian hound of exquisite symmetry which was\\na parlor favorite and pet among the fashionable dames of ancient\\ntimes. James closes his description by a burst of general eulo-\\ngium\\nIn her was youth, beauty, with humble port\\nBounty, richesse, and womanly feature", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "A ROYAL POET 85\\nGod better knows than my pen can report,\\nWisdom, largesse, estate, and cunning sure.\\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 garden puts an end to\\nthis transient riot of the heart. With her departs the amorous\\nillusion that had shed a temporary charm over the scene of his\\ncaptivity, and he relapses into loneliness, now rendered tenfold\\nmore intolerable by this passing beam of unattainable beauty.\\nThrough the long and weary day he repines at his unhappy lot,\\nand when evening approaches, and Phoebus, as he beautifully\\nexpresses it, had bade farewell to every leaf and flower, he\\nstill lingers at the window, and, laying his head upon the cold\\nstone, gives vent to a mingled flow of love and sorrow, until,\\ngradually lulled by the mute melancholy of the twilight hour,\\nhe lapses, half sleeping, half swoon, into a vision, which occu-\\npies the remainder of the poem and in which is allegorically\\nshadowed out the history of his passion.\\nWhen he wakes from his trance he rises from his stony pil-\\nlow, and, pacing his apartment, full of dreary reflections, ques-\\ntions his spirit whither it has been wandering whether, indeed,\\nall that has passed before his dreaming fancy has been conjured\\nup by preceding circumstances, or whether it is a vision in-\\ntended to comfort and assure him in his despondency. If the\\nlatter, he prays that some token may be sent to confirm the\\npromise of happier days, given him in his slumbers. Suddenly\\na turtle-dove of the purest whiteness comes flying in at the\\nwindow and alights upon his hand, bearing in her bill a branch\\nof red gilliflower, on the leaves of which is written, in letters\\nof gold, 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.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "86 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nHe receives the branch with mingled hope and dread reads\\nit with rapture and this, he says, was the first token of his\\nsucceeding happiness. Whether this is a mere poetic fiction,\\nor whether the Lady Jane did actually send him a token of her\\nfavor in this romantic way, remains to be determined according\\nto the fate or fancy of the reader. He concludes his poem by\\nintimating that the promise conveyed in the vision and by the\\nflower is fulfilled by his being restored to liberty, and made\\nhappy in the possession of the sovereign of his heart.\\nSuch is the poetical account given by James of his love ad-\\nventures in Windsor Castle. How much of it is absolute fact,\\nand how much the embellishment of fancy, it is fruitless to con-\\njecture let us not, however, reject every romantic incident as\\nincompatible with real life, but let us sometimes take a poet at\\nhis word. I have noticed merely those parts of the poem im-\\nmediately connected with the tower, and have passed over a\\nlarge part written in the allegorical vein, so much cultivated at\\nthat day. The language, of course, is quaint and antiquated,\\nso that the beauty of many of its golden phrases will scarcely\\nbe perceived at the present day but it is impossible not to be\\ncharmed with the genuine sentiment, the delightful artlessness\\nand urbanity, which prevail throughout it. The descriptions\\nof Nature too, with which it is embellished, are given with a\\ntruth, a discrimination, and a freshness worthy of the most cul-\\ntivated periods of the art.\\nAs an amatory poem it is edifying in these days of coarser\\nthinking to notice the nature, refinement, and exquisite delicacy\\nwhich pervade it, banishing every gross thought or immodest\\nexpression, and presenting female loveliness clothed in all its\\nchivalrous attributes of almost supernatural purity and grace.\\nJames flourished nearly about the time of Chaucer and Cower,\\nand was evidently an admirer and studier of their writings.\\nIndeed, in one of his stanzas he acknowledges them as his mas^\\nters and in some parts of his poem we find traces of similarity", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "A ROYAL POET 87\\nto their productions, more especially to those of Chaucer. There\\nare always, however, general features of resemblance in the works\\nof contemporary authors, which are not so much borrowed from\\neach other as from the times. Writers, like bees, toll their\\nsweets in the wide world they incorporate with their own con-\\nceptions the anecdotes and thoughts current in society and\\nthus each generation has some features in common characteris-\\ntic of the age in which it lives.\\nJames belongs to one of the most brilliant eras of our literary\\nhistory, and establishes the claims of his country to a participa-\\ntion in its primitive honors. Whilst a small cluster of English\\nwriters are constantly cited as the fathers of our verse, the\\nname of their great Scottish compeer is apt to be passed over\\nin silence but he is evidently worthy of being enrolled in that\\nlittle constellation of remote but never-failing luminaries who\\nshine in the highest firmament of literature, and who, like\\nmorning stars, sang together at the bright dawning of British\\npoesy.\\nSuch of my readers as may not be familiar with Scottish\\nhistory (though the manner in which it has of late been woven\\nwith captivating fiction has made it a universal study) may be\\ncurious to learn something of the subsequent history of James\\nand the fortunes of his love. His passion for the Lady Jane,\\nas it was the solace of his captivity, so it facilitated his release,\\nit being imagined by the Court that a connection with the blood\\nroyal of England would attach him to its own interests. He\\nwas ultimately restored to his liberty and crown, having pre-\\nviously espoused the Lady Jane, who accompanied him to Scot-\\nland and made him a most tender and devoted wife.\\nHe found his kingdom in great confusion, the feudal chief-\\ntains having taken advantage of the troubles and irregularities\\nof a long interregnum to strengthen themselves in their posses-\\nsions and place themselves above the power of the law T s. James\\nsought to found the basis of his power in the affections of his", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "88 THE SKETCH BOOK\\npeople. He attached the lower orders to him by the reforma\\ntion of abuses, the temperate and equable administration of jus-\\ntice, the encouragement of the arts of peace, and the promotion\\nof everything that could diffuse comfort, competency, and inno-\\ncent enjoyment through the humblest ranks of society. He\\nmingled occasionally among the common people in disguise\\nvisited their firesides entered into their cares, their pursuits,\\nand their amusements informed himself of the mechanical arts,\\nand how they could best be patronized and improved and was thus\\nan all-pervading spirit, watching with a benevolent eye over the\\nmeanest of his subjects. Having in this generous manner made\\nhimself strong in the hearts of the common people, he turned\\nhimself to curb the power of the factious nobility to strip them\\nof those dangerous immunities which they had usurped to pun-\\nish such as had been guilty of flagrant offences and to bring\\nthe whole into proper obedience to the Crown. For some time\\nthey bore this with outward submission, but with secret im-\\npatience and brooding resentment. A conspiracy was at length\\nformed against his life, at the head of which was his own uncle,\\nRobert Stewart, Earl of Athol, who, being too old himself for\\nthe perpetration of the deed of blood, instigated his grandson,\\nSir Robert Stewart, together with Sir Robert Graham and others\\nof less note, to commit the deed. They broke into his bed-\\nchamber at the Dominican convent near Perth, where he was\\nresiding, and barbarously murdered him by oft-repeated wounds.\\nHis faithful queen, rushing to throw her tender body between\\nhim and the sword, was twice wounded in the ineffectual at-\\ntempt to shield him from the assassin; and it was not until she\\nhad been forcibly torn from his person that the murder was\\naccomplished.\\nIt was the recollection of this romantic tale of former times,\\nand of the golden little poem which had its birthplace in this\\ntower, that made me visit the old pile with more than common\\ninterest. The suit of armor hanging up in the hall, richly gilt", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "A ROYAL POET 89\\nand embellished, as if to figure in the tourney, brought the\\nimage of the gallant and romantic prince vividly before my im-\\nagination. I paced the deserted chambers where he had com-\\nposed his poem I leaned upon the window, and endeavored\\nto persuade myself it was the very one where he had been visited\\nby his vision I looked out upon the spot where he had first\\nseen the Lady Jane. It was the same genial and joyous month\\nthe birds were again vying with each other in strains of liquid\\nmelody everything was bursting into vegetation and budding\\nforth the tender promise of the year. Time, which delights to\\nobliterate the sterner memorials of human pride, seems to have\\npassed lightly over this little scene of poetry and love, and to\\nhave withheld his desolating hand. Several centuries have gone\\nby, yet the garden still flourishes at the foot of the tower. It\\noccupies what was once the moat of the keep and, though some\\nparts have been separated by dividing walls, yet others have\\nstill their arbors and shaded walks, as in the days of James,\\nand the whole is sheltered, blooming, and retired. There is a\\ncharm about a spot that has been printed bj T the footsteps of\\ndeparted beauty and consecrated by the inspirations of the poet,\\nwhich is heightened, rather than impaired, by the lapse of ages.\\nIt is, indeed, the gift of poetry to hallow every place in which\\nit moves to breathe around nature an odor more exquisite than\\nthe perfume of the rose, and to shed over it a tint more magical\\nthan the blush of morning.\\nOthers may dwell on the illustrious deeds of James as a war-\\nrior and a legislator but I have delighted to view him merely\\nas the companion of his fellow-men, the benefactor of the human\\nheart, stooping from his high estate to sow the sweet flowers of\\npoetry and song in the paths of common life. He was the first\\nto cultivate the vigorous and hardy plant of Scottish genius, which\\nhas since become so prolific of the most wholesome and highly\\nflavored fruit. He carried with him into the sterner regions of\\nthe north all the fertilizing arts of southern refinement. He did", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "90 THE SKETCH BOOK\\neverything in his power to win his countrymen to the gay, the\\nelegant, and gentle arts, which soften and refine the character\\nof a people, and wreathe a grace round the loftiness of a proud\\nand warlike spirit. He wrote many poems, which, unfortunately\\nfor the fulness of his fame, are now lost to the world one, which\\nis still preserved, called Christ s Kirk of the Green/ shows\\nhow diligently he had made himself acquainted with the rustic\\nsports and pastimes which constitute such a source of kind and\\nsocial feeling among the Scottish peasantry, and with what sim-\\nple and happy humor he could enter into their enjoyments. He\\ncontributed greatly to improve the national music and traces\\nof his tender sentiment and elegant taste are said to exist in\\nthose witching airs still piped among the wild mountains and\\nlonely glens of Scotland. He has thus connected his image with\\nwhatever is most gracious and endearing in the national char-\\nacter he has embalmed his memory in song, and floated his\\nname to after-ages in the rich streams of Scottish melody. The\\nrecollection of these things was kindling at my heart as I paced\\nthe silent scene of his imprisonment. I have visited Vaucluse\\nwith as much enthusiasm as a pilgrim would visit the shrine at\\nLoretto but I have never felt more poetical devotion than when\\ncontemplating the old tower and the little garden at Windsor,\\nand musing over the romantic loves of the Lady Jane and the\\nRoyal Poet of Scotland.\\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 study of charac-\\nter than an English country church. I was once passing a few", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "THE COUNTRY CHURCH 91\\nweeks at the seat of a friend who resided in the vicinity of one\\nthe appearance of which particularly struck my fancy. It was\\none of those rich morsels of quaint antiquity, which gives such\\na peculiar charm to English landscape. It stood in the midst\\nof a country filled with ancient families, and contained within\\nits cold and silent aisles the congregated dust of many noble\\ngenerations. The interior walls were encrusted with monuments\\nof every age and style. The light streamed through windows\\ndimmed with armorial bearings, richly emblazoned in stained\\nglass. In various parts of the church were tombs of knights\\nand high-born dames, of gorgeous workmanship, with their effi-\\ngies in colored marble. On every side the eye was struck with\\nsome instance of aspiring mortality, some haughty memorial\\nwhich human pride had erected over its kindred dust in this\\ntemple of the most humble of all religions.\\nThe congregation was composed of the neighboring people of\\nrank, who sat in pews sumptuously lined and cushioned, fur-\\nnished with richly gilded prayer-books, and decorated with their\\narms upon the pew doors of the villagers and peasantry, who\\nfilled the back seats and a small gallery beside the organ and\\nof the poor of the parish, who were ranged on benches in the\\naisles.\\nThe service was performed by a snuffling, well-fed vicar, who\\nhad a snug dwelling near the church. He was a privileged\\nguest at all the tables of the neighborhood, and had been the\\nkeenest fox-hunter in the country until age and good living had\\ndisabled him from doing anything more than ride to see the\\nhounds throw off, and make one at the hunting dinner.\\nUnder the ministry of such a pastor I found it impossible to\\nget into the train of thought suitable to the time and place so,\\nhaving, like many other feeble Christians, compromised with my\\nconscience by laying the sin of my own delinquency at another\\nperson s threshold, I occupied myself by making observations on\\nmy neighbors.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "92 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nI was as yet a stranger in England, and curious to notice the\\nmanners of its fashionable classes. I found, as usual, that there\\nwas the least pretension where there was the most acknowledged\\ntitle to respect. I was particularly struck, for instance, with\\nthe family of a nobleman of high rank, consisting of several\\nsons and daughters. Nothing could be more simple and unas-\\nsuming than their appearance. They generally came to church\\nin the plainest equipage, and often on foot. The young ladies\\nwould stop and converse in the kindest manner with the peas-\\nantry, caress the children, and listen to the stories of the hum-\\nble cottagers. Their countenances were open and beautifully\\nfair, with an expression of high refinement, but at the same time\\na frank cheerfulness and engaging affability. Their brothers\\nwere tall and elegantly formed. They were dressed fashionably,\\nbut simply with strict neatness and propriety, but without\\nany mannerism or foppishness. Their whole demeanor was easy\\nand natural, with that lofty grace and noble frankness which\\nbespeak free-bcrn souls that have never been checked in their\\ngrowth by feelings of inferiority. There is a healthful hardi-\\nness about real dignity, that never dreads contact and com-\\nmunion with others, however humble. It is only spurious\\npride that is morbid and sensitive and shrinks from every touch.\\nI was pleased to see the manner in which they would converse\\nwith the peasantry about those rural concerns and field-sports\\nin which the gentlemen of this country so much delight. In\\nthese conversations there was neither haughtiness on the one\\npart, nor servility on the other, and you were only reminded of\\nthe difference of rank by the habitual respect of the peasant.\\nIn contrast to these was the family of a wealthy citizen, who\\nhad amassed a vast fortune, and, having purchased the estate\\nand mansion of a ruined nobleman in the neighborhood, was\\nendeavoring to assume all the style and dignity of an hereditary\\nlord of the soil. The family always came to church en prince.\\nThey were rolled majestically along in a carriage emblazoned", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "THE COUNTRY CHURCH 93\\nwith arms. The crest glittered in silver radiance from every\\npart of the harness where a crest could possibly be placed. A\\nfat coachman, in a three-cornered hat richly laced and a flaxen\\nwig curling close round his rosy face, was seated on the box,\\nwith a sleek Danish dog beside him. Two footmen in gorgeous\\nliveries, with huge bouquets and gold-headed canes, lolled behind.\\nThe carriage rose and sunk on its long springs with a peculiar\\nstateliness of motion. The very horses champed their bits,\\narched their necks, and glanced their eyes more proudly than\\ncommon horses either because they had caught a little of the\\nfamily feeling, or were reined up more tightly than ordinary.\\nI could not but admire the style with which the splendid\\npageant was brought up to the gate of the churchyard. There\\nwas a vast effect produced at the turning of an angle of the\\nwall a great smacking of the whip, straining and scrambling\\nof horses, glistening of harness, and flashing of wheels through\\ngravel. This was the moment of triumph and vainglory to the\\ncoachman. The horses were urged and checked until they were\\nfretted into a foam. They threw out their feet in a prancing\\ntrot, dashing about pebbles at every step. The crowd of vil-\\nlagers sauntering quietly to church opened precipitately to the\\nright and left, gaping in vacant admiration. On reaching the\\ngate the horses were pulled up with a suddenness that produced\\nan immediate stop and almost threw them on their haunches.\\nThere was an extraordinary hurry of the footmen to alight,\\npull down the steps, and prepare everything for the descent on\\nearth of this august family. The old citizen first emerged his\\nround red face from out the door, looking about him with the\\npompous air of a man accustomed to rule on Change, and shake\\nthe Stock Market with a nod. His consort, a fine, fleshy, com-\\nfortable dame, followed him. There seemed, I must confess,\\nbut little pride in her composition. She was the picture of\\nbroad, honest, vulgar enjoyment. The world went well with\\nher, and she liked the w r orld. She had fine clothes, a fine", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "94 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nhouse, a fine carriage, fine children everything was fine about\\nher it was nothing but driving about and visiting and feasting.\\nLife was to her a perpetual revel it was one long Lord Mayor s\\nDay.\\nTwo daughters succeeded to this goodly couple. They cer-\\ntainly were handsome, but had a supercilious air that chilled\\nadmiration and disposed the spectator to be critical. They were\\nultrafashionable in dress, and, though no one could deny the\\nrichness of their decorations, yet their appropriateness might\\nbe questioned amidst the simplicity of a country church. They\\ndescended loftily from the carriage, and moved up the line of\\npeasantry with a step that seemed dainty of the soil it trod on.\\nThey cast an excursive glance around, that passed coldly over\\nthe burly faces of the peasantry until they met the eyes of the\\nnobleman s family, when their countenances immediately bright-\\nened into smiles, and they made the most profound and elegant\\ncourtesies, which were returned in a manner that showed they\\nwere but slight acquaintances.\\nI must not forget the two sons of this aspiring citizen, who\\ncame to church in a dashing curricle with outriders. They\\nwere arrayed in the extremity of the mode, with all that pedan-\\ntry of dress which marks the man of questionable pretensions\\nto style. They kept entirely by themselves, eyeing every one\\naskance that came near them, as if measuring his claims to re-\\nspectability yet they were without conversation, except the\\nexchange of an occasional cant phrase. They even moved artifi-\\ncially, for their bodies, in compliance with the caprice of the day,\\nhad been disciplined into the absence of all ease and freedom. Art\\nhad done everything to accomplish them as men of fashion, but\\nNature had denied them the nameless grace. They were vul-\\ngarly shaped, like men formed for the common purposes of life,\\nand had that air of supercilious assumption which is never seen\\nin the true gentleman.\\nI have been rather minute in drawing the pictures of these", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "THE COUNTRY CHURCH 95\\ntwo families, because I considered them specimens of what is\\noften to be met with in this country the unpretending great\\nand the arrogant little. I have no respect for titled rank unless\\nit be accompanied with true nobility of soul but I have re-\\nmarked in all countries where artificial distinctions exist that\\nthe very highest classes are always the most courteous and un-\\nassuming. Those who are well assured of their own standing\\nare least apt to trespass on that of others whereas nothing is\\nso offensive as the aspirings of vulgarity, which thinks to ele-\\nvate itself by humiliating its neighbor.\\nAs I have brought these families into contrast, I must notice\\ntheir behavior in church. That of the nobleman s family was\\nquiet, serious, and attentive. Not that they appeared to have\\nany fervor of devotion, but rather a respect for sacred things and\\nsacred places inseparable from good-breeding. The others, on\\nthe contrary, were in a perpetual flutter and whisper they be-\\ntrayed a continual consciousness of finery, and the sorry ambition\\nof being the wonders of a rural congregation.\\nThe old gentleman was the only one really attentive to the\\nservice. He took the whole burden of family devotion upon\\nhimself, standing bolt upright and uttering the responses in a\\nloud voice that might be heard all over the church. It was\\nevident that he was one of those thorough Church-and-king men\\nwho connect the idea of devotion and loyalty who consider the\\nDeity, somehow or other, of the government party, and religion\\na very excellent sort of thing, that ought to be countenanced\\nand kept up.\\nWhen he joined so loudly in the service, it seemed more by\\nway of example to the lower orders, to show them that, though\\nso great and wealthy, he was not above being religious as I\\nhave seen a turtle-fed alderman swallow publicly a basin of\\ncharity soup, smacking his lips at every mouthful and pronounc-\\ning it excellent food for the poor.\\nWhen the service was at an end I was curious to witness the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "96 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nseveral exits of my groups. The young noblemen and their sis*\\nters, as the day was fine, preferred strolling home across the\\nfields, chatting with the country people as they went. The\\nothers departed as they came, in grand parade. Again were the\\nequipages wheeled up to the gate. There was again the smack-\\ning of whips, the clattering of hoofs, and the glittering of har-\\nness. The horses started off almost at a bound the villagers\\nagain hurried to right and left the wheels threw up a cloud of\\ndust, and the aspiring family was rapt out of sight in a whirl-\\nwind.\\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 matters must\\nhave noticed the passive quiet of an English landscape on Sun-\\nday. The clacking of the mill, the regularly recurring stroke of\\nthe flail, the din of the blacksmith s hammer, the whistling of\\nthe ploughman, the rattling of the cart, and all other sounds\\nof rural labor are suspended. The very farm-dogs bark less fre-\\nquently, being less disturbed by passing travellers. At such\\ntimes I have almost fancied the wind sunk into quiet, and that\\nthe sunny landscape, with its fresh green tints melting into blue\\nhaze, enjoyed the hallowed calm.\\nSweet day, so pure, so calm, so bright,\\nThe bridal of the earth and sky.\\nWell was it ordained that the day of devotion should be a day\\nof rest. The holy repose which reigns over the face of nature\\nhas its moral influence every restless passion is charmed down,\\nand we feel the natural religion of the soul gently springing up\\nwithin us. For my part, there are feelings that visit me in a", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "THE WIDOW AND HER SON 97\\ncountry church, amid the beautiful serenity of nature, which I\\nexperience nowhere else and if not a more religious, I think I\\nam a better man on Sunday than on any other day of the seven.\\nDuring my recent residence in the country I used frequently\\nto attend at the old village church. Its shadowy aisles, its\\nmouldering monuments, its dark oaken panelling, all reverend\\nwith the gloom of departed years, seemed to fit it for the haunt\\nof solemn meditation but, being in a wealthy, aristocratic neigh-\\nborhood, the glitter of fashion penetrated even into the sanctuary\\nand I felt myself continually thrown back upon the world by\\nthe frigidity and pomp of the poor worms around me. The only\\nbeing in the whole congregation who appeared thoroughly to feel\\nthe humble and prostrate piety of a true Christian was a poor\\ndecrepit old woman, bending under the weight of years and in-\\nfirmities. She bore the traces of something better than abject\\npoverty. The lingerings of decent pride were visible in her\\nappearance. Her dress, though humble in the extreme, was\\nscrupulously clean. Some trivial respect, too, had been awarded\\nher, for she did not take her seat among the village poor, but\\nsat alone on the steps of the altar. She seemed to have sur-\\nvived all love, all friendship, all society, and to have nothing\\nleft her but the hopes of heaven. When I saw her feebly rising\\nand bending her aged form in prayer habitually conning her\\nprayer-book, which her palsied hand and failing eyes could not\\npermit her to read, but which she evidently knew by heart, I\\nfelt persuaded that the faltering voice of that poor woman arose\\nto heaven far before the responses of the clerk, the swell of the\\norgan, or the chanting of the choir.\\nI am fond of loitering about country churches, and this\\nwas so delightfully situated that it frequently attracted me.\\nIt stood on a knoll, round which a small stream made a beauti-\\nful bend and then wound its way through a long reach of soft\\nmeadow scenery. The church was surrounded by yew trees\\nwhich seemed almost coeval with itself. Its tall Gothic spire", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "98 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nshot up lightly from among them, with rooks and crows\\ngenerally wheeling about it. I was seated there one still\\nsunny morning watching two laborers who were digging a\\ngrave. They had chosen one of the most remote and neglected\\ncorners of the churchyard, where, from the number of nameless\\ngraves around, it would appear that the indigent and friendless\\nwere huddled into the earth. I was told that the new-made\\ngrave was for the only son of a poor widow. While I was\\nmeditating on the distinctions of worldly rank which extend\\nthus down into the very dust, the toll of the bell announced\\nthe approach of the funeral. They were the obsequies ot\\npoverty, with which pride had nothing to do. A coffin of the\\n)lainest materials, without pall or other covering, was borne\\nby some of the villagers. The sexton walked before with an\\nair of cold indifference. There were no mock mourners in the\\ntrappings of affected woe, but there was one real mourner who\\nfeebly tottered after the corpse. It was the aged mother\\nof the deceased, the poor old woman whom I had seen seated\\non the steps of the altar. She was supported by a humble\\nfriend, who was endeavoring to comfort her. A few of the\\nneighboring poor had joined the train, and some children of the\\nvillage were running hand in hand, now shouting with unthink-\\ning mirth, and now pausing to gaze with childish curiosity on\\nthe grief of the mourner.\\nAs the funeral train approached the grave, the parson issued\\nfrom the church-porch, arrayed in the surplice, with prayer-book\\nin hand, and attended by the clerk. The service, however, was\\na mere act of charity. The deceased had been destitute, and\\nthe survivor was penniless. It was shuffled through, there-\\nfore, in form, but coldly and unfeelingly. The well-fed priest\\nmoved but a few steps from the church-door his voice could\\nscarcely be heard at the grave and never did I hear the funeral\\nservice, that sublime and touching ceremony, turned into such a\\nfrigid mummery of words.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "THE WIDOW AND HER SOX 99\\nI approached the grave. The coffin was placed on the\\nground, On it were inscribed the name and age of the\\ndeceased George Soiners, aged 26 years. The poor\\nmother had been assisted to kneel down at the head of it.\\nHer withered hands were clasped as if in prayer but I could\\nperceive, by a feeble rocking of the body and a convulsive motion\\nof the lips, that she was gazing on the last relics of her son\\nwith the yearnings of a mother s heart.\\nPreparations were made to deposit the coffin in the earth.\\nThere was that bustling stir which breaks so harshly on the\\nfeelings of grief and affection directions given in the cold tones\\nof business the striking of spades into sand and gravel, which,\\nat the grave of those we love, is, of all sounds, the most wither-\\ning. The bustle around seemed to waken the mother from a\\nwretched reverie. She raised her glazed eyes, and looked about\\nwith a faint wildness. As the men approached with cords to\\nlower the coffin into the grave, she wrung her hands and broke\\ninto an agony of grief. The poor woman who attended her\\ntook her by the arm, endeavoring to raise her from the earth,\\nand to whisper something like consolation ki Xay, now nay,\\nnow don t take it so sorely to heart. She could only shake\\nLead and wring her hands, as one not to be comforted.\\nAs they lowered the body into the earth, the creaking of the\\ncords seemed to agonize her: but when, on some accidental\\nobstruction, there was a jostling of the coffin, all the tenderness\\nof the mother burst forth, as if any harm could come to him\\nwho was far beyond the reach of worldly suffering.\\nI could see no more my heart swelled into my throat\\nmy eyes filled with tears I felt as if I were acting a\\nbarbarous part in standing by and gazing idly on this scene of\\nmaternal anguish. I wandered to another part of the church-\\nyard, where I remained until the funeral train had dispersed.\\nWhen I saw the mother slowly and painfully quitting the\\ngrave, leaving behind her the remains of all that was dear to", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "100 THE SKETCH BOOR\\nher on earth, and returning to silence and destitution, my heart\\nached for her. What, thought I, are the distresses of the\\nrich They have friends to soothe, pleasures to beguile,\\na world to divert and dissipate their griefs. What are\\nthe sorrows of the young? Their growing minds soon close\\nabove the wound their elastic spirits soon rise beneath\\nthe pressure their green and ductile affections soon twine\\nround new objects. But the sorrow of the poor, who have no\\noutward appliances to soothe the sorrows of the aged; with\\nwhom life at best is but a wintry day, and who can look for\\nno after-growth of joy the sorrows of a widow, aged, solitary,\\ndestitute, mourning over an only son, the last solace of her\\nyears, these are indeed sorrows which make us feel the impo-\\ntency of consolation.\\nIt was some time before I left the churchyard. On my way\\nhomeward I met with the woman who had acted as comforter\\nshe was just returning from accompanying the mother to her\\nlonely habitation, and I drew from her .some particulars con-\\nnected with the affecting scene I had witnessed.\\nThe parents of the deceased had resided in the village from\\nchildhood. They had inhabited one of the neatest cottages,\\nand by various rural occupations, and the assistance of a small\\ngarden, had supported themselves creditably and comfortably,\\nand led a happy and a blameless life. They had one son, who\\nhad grown up to be the staff and pride of their age. Oh, sir,\\nsaid the good woman, he was such a comely lad, so sweet-tem-\\npered, so kind to every one around him, so dutiful to his\\nparents It did one s heart good to see him of a Sunday, drest\\nout in his best, so tall, so straight, so cheery, supporting his\\nold mother to church for she was always fonder of leaning\\non George s arm than on her good man s and, poor soul, she\\nmight well be proud of him, for a finer lad there was not in\\nthe country round.\\nUnfortunately, the son was tempted, during a year of scarcity", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "THE WIDOW AND HER SON 101\\nand agricultural hardship, to enter into the service of one of the\\nsmall craft that plied on a neighboring river. He had not been\\nlong in this employ when he was entrapped by a press-gang and\\ncarried off to sea. His parents received tidings of his seizure,\\nbut beyond that they could learn nothing. It was the loss of\\ntheir main prop. The father, who was already infirm, grew\\nheartless and melancholy and sunk into his grave. The widow,\\nleft lonely in her age and feebleness, could no longer support\\nherself, and came upon the parish. Still, there was a kind\\nfeeling towards her throughout the village, and a certain respect\\nhs being one of the oldest inhabitants. As no one applied for\\nthe cottage in which she had passed so many happy days, she\\nwas permitted to remain in it, where she lived solitary and\\nalmost helpless. The few wants of nature were chiefly supplied\\nfrom the scanty productions of her little garden, which the\\nneighbors would now and then cultivate for her. It was but\\na few days before the time at which these circumstances were\\ntold me that she was gathering some vegetables for her repast,\\nwhen she heard the cottage-door, which faced the garden,\\nsuddenly opened. A stranger came out, and seemed to be\\nlooking eagerly and wildly around. He was dressed in sea-\\nmen s clothes, was emaciated and ghastly pale, and bore the\\nair of one broken by sickness and hardships. He saw her and\\nhastened towards her, but his steps were faint and faltering\\nhe sank on his knees before her and sobbed like a child. The\\npoor woman gazed upon him with a vacant and wandering eye.\\nOh, my dear, dear mother don t you know your son your\\npoor boy, George? It was, indeed, the wreck of her once\\nnoble lad, who, shattered by wounds, by sickness and foreign\\nimprisonment, had, at length, dragged his wasted limbs home-\\nward, to repose among the scenes of his childhood.\\nI will not attempt to detail the particulars of such a meeting,\\nwhere sorrow and joy were so completely blended still, he\\nwas alive he was come home he might yet live to comfort", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "102 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nand cherish her old age Nature, however, was exhausted in\\nhim, and if anything had been wanting to finish the work of\\nfate, the desolation of his native cottage would have been suffi-\\ncient. He stretched himself on the pallet on which his widowed\\nmother had passed many a sleepless night, and he never rose\\nfrom it again.\\nThe villagers, when they heard that George Somers had re-\\nturned, crowded to see him, offering every comfort and assistance\\nthat their humble means afforded. He was too weak, however,\\nto talk he could only look his thanks. His mother was his\\nconstant attendant, and he seemed unwilling to be helped by\\nany other hand.\\nThere is something in sickness that breaks down the pride of\\nmanhood, that softens the heart, and brings it back to the feelings\\nof infancy. Who that has languished, even in advanced life, in\\nsickness and despondency, who that has pined on a weary bed\\nin the neglect and loneliness of a foreign land, but has thought\\non the mother that looked on his childhood, that smoothed his\\npillow, and administered to his helplessness? Oh, there is an\\nenduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that tran-\\nscends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled\\nby selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worth-\\nlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. She will sacrifice every com-\\nfort to his convenience she will surrender every pleasure to his\\nenjoyment; she will glory in his fame and exult in his prosperity;\\nand, if misfortune overtake him, he will be the dearer to her from\\nmisfortune and if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still\\nlove and cherish him in spite of his disgrace and if all the world\\nbeside cast him off, she will be all the world to him.\\nPoor George Somers had known what it was to be in sickness,\\nand none to soothe lonely and in prison, and none to visit him.\\nHe could not endure his mother from his sight if she moved\\naway, his eye would follow her. She would sit for hours by his\\nbed watching him as he slept. Sometimes he would start from a", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "THE WIDOW AND HER SON 103\\nfeverish dream, and look anxiously up until he saw her bending\\nover him when he would take her hand, lay it on his bosom, and\\nfall asleep with the tranquillity of a child. In this way he died.\\nMy first impulse on hearing this humble tale of affliction was\\nto visit the cottage of the mourner, and administer pecuniary as-\\nsistance, and, if possible, comfort. I found, however, on inquiry,\\nthat the good feelings of the villagers had prompted them to do\\neverything that the case admitted and as the poor know best\\nhow to console each other s sorrows, I did not venture to intrude.\\nThe next Sunday I was at the village church, when, to my\\nsurprise, I saw the poor old woman tottering down the aisle to\\nher accustomed seat on the steps of the altar.\\nShe had made an effort to put on something like mourning\\nfor her son and nothing could be more touching than this strug-\\ngle between pious affection and utter poverty a black ribbon\\nor so, a faded black handkerchief, and one or two more such\\nhumble attempts to express by outward signs that grief which\\npasses show. When I looked round upon the storied monu-\\nments, the stately hatchments, the cold marble pomp with\\nwhich grandeur mourned magnificently over the departed pride,\\nand turned to this poor widow, bowed down by age and sorrow\\nat the altar of her God, and offering up the prayers and praises\\nof a pious though a broken heart, I felt that this living monu-\\nment of real grief was worth them all.\\nI related her story to some of the wealthy members of the\\ncongregation, and they were moved by it. They exerted them-\\nselves to render her situation more comfortable and to lighten\\nher afflictions. It was, however, but smoothing a few steps to\\nthe grave. In the course of a Sunday or two after, she was\\nmissed from her usual seat at church, and before I left the\\nneighborhood I heard, with a feeling of satisfaction, that she\\nhad quietly breathed her last, and had gone to rejoin those she\\nloved in that world where sorrow is never known and friends are\\nnever parted.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "104 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nA SCJNDAY IN LONDON\\nIn a preceding paper I have spoken of an English Sunday in\\nthe country and its tranquillizing effect upon the landscape but\\nwhere is its sacred influence more strikingly apparent than in\\ntiie very heart of that great Babel, London? On this sacred\\nclay the gigantic monster is charmed into repose. The intoler-\\nable ain and struggle of the week are at an end. The shops are\\nshut. The fires of forges and manufactories are extinguished,\\nand the sun, no longer obscured by murky clouds of smoke,\\npours (town a sober yellow radiance into the quiet streets. The\\nfew pedestrians we meet, instead of hurrying forward with\\nanxious countenances, move leisurely along; their brows are\\nsmoothed from the wrinkles of business and care they have\\nput on their Sunday looks and Sunday manners with their Sun-\\nday clothes, and are cleansed in mind as well as in person.\\nAnd now the melodious clangor of bells from church towers\\nsummons their several flocks to the fold. Forth issues from his\\nmansion the family of the decent tradesman, the small children\\nm the advance then the citizen and his comely spouse, followed\\nby the grown-up daughters, with small morocco-bound prayer-\\nbooks laid in the folds of their pocket-handkerchiefs. The\\nhousemaid looks after them from the window, admiring the\\nfinery of the family, and receiving, perhaps, a nod and smile\\nfrom her young mistresses, at whose toilet she has assisted.\\nNow rumbles along the carriage of some magnate of the city,\\nperad venture an alderman or a sheriff, and now the patter of\\nmany feet announces a procession of charity scholars in uniforms\\nof antique cut, and each with a prayer-book under his arm.\\nThe ringing of bells is at an end the rumbling of the car-\\nriages has ceased the pattering of feet is heard no more the\\nflocks are folded in ancient churches, cramped up in by-lanes\\nand corners of the crowded city, where the vigilant beadle keeps", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "A SUNDAY IN LONDON 105\\nwatch, like the shepherd s dog, round the threshold of the sanc-\\ntuary. For a time everything is hushed, but soon is heard the\\ndeep, pervading sound of the organ, rolling and vibrating through\\nthe empty lanes and courts, and the sweet chanting of the choir\\nmaking them resound with melody and praise. Never have I\\nbeen more sensible of the sanctifying effect of church music than\\nwhen I have heard it thus poured forth, like a river of joy,\\nthrough the inmost recesses of this great metropolis, elevating\\nit, as it were, from all the sordid pollutions of the week, and\\nbearing the poor world-worn soul on a tide of triumphant har-\\nmony to heaven.\\nThe morning service is at an end. The streets are again alive\\nwith the congregations returning to their homes, but soon again\\nrelapse into silence. Now comes on the Sunday dinner, which\\nto the city tradesman is a meal of some importance. There is\\nmore leisure for social enjoyment at the board. Members of the\\nfamily can now gather together who are separated by the labo-\\nrious occupations of the week. A school-boy may be permitted\\non that day to come to the paternal home an old friend of the\\nfamily takes his accustomed Sunday seat at the board, tells over\\nhis well-known stories, and rejoices young and old with his well-\\nknown jokes.\\nOn Sunday afternoon the city pours forth its legions to breathe\\nthe fresh air and enjoy the sunshine of the parks and rural envi-\\nrons. Satirists may say what they please about the rural en-\\njoyments of a London citizen on Sunday, but to me there is\\nsomething delightful in beholding the poor prisoner of the\\ncrowded and dusty city enabled thus to come forth once a week\\nand throw himself upon the green bosom of nature. He is like\\na child restored to the mother s breast and they who first\\nspread out these noble parks and magnificent pleasure-grounds\\nwhich surround this huge metropolis have done at least as much\\nfor its health and morality as if they had expended the amount\\nof cost in hospitals, prisons, and penitentiaries.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "106 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nTHE BOAR S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP\\nA SHAKESPEARIAN RESEARCH\\nA tavern is the rendezvous, the exchange, the staple of good fellows.\\nI have heard my great-grandfather tell, how his great-great-grandfather\\nshould say, that it was an old proverb when his great-grandfather war,\\na child, that it was a good wind that blew a man to the wine.\\nMother Bombie.\\nIt is a pious custom in some Catholic countries to honor the\\nmemory of saints by votive lights burnt before their pictures.\\nThe popularity of a saint, therefore, may be known by the num-\\nber of these offerings. One, perhaps, is left to moulder in the\\ndarkness of his little chapel another may have a solitary lamp\\nto throw its blinking rays athwart his effigy; while the whole\\nblaze of adoration is lavished at the shrine of some beatified\\nfather of renown. The wealthy devotee brings his huge lumi-\\nnary of wax, the eager zealot, his seven-branched candlestick\\nand even the mendicant pilgrim is by no means satisfied that\\nsufficient light is thrown upon the deceased unless he hangs up\\nhis little lamp of smoking oil. The consequence is, that in the\\neagerness to enlighten, they are often apt to obscure and I have\\noccasionally seen an unlucky saint almost smoked out of counte-\\nnance by the officiousness of his followers.\\nIn like manner has it fared with the immortal Shakespeare.\\nEvery writer considers it his bounden duty to light up some por-\\ntion of his character or works, and to rescue some merit from\\noblivion. The commentator, opulent in words, produces vast\\ntomes of dissertations the common herd of editors send up\\nmists of obscurity from their notes at the bottom of each page;\\nand every casual scribbler brings his farthing rushlight of eulogy\\nor research to swell the cloud of incense and of smoke.\\nAs I honor all established usages of my brethren of the quill,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "THE BOAR S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 107\\nI thought it but proper to contribute my rnite of homage to the\\nmemory of the illustrious bard. I was for some time, however,\\nsorely puzzled in what way I should discharge this duty. I\\nfound myself anticipated in every attempt at a new reading\\nevery doubtful line had been explained a dozen different ways,\\nand perplexed beyond the reach of elucidation and as to fine\\npassages, they had all been amply praised by previous admirers\\nnay, so completely had the bard, of late, been overlarcled with\\npanegyric by a great German critic that it was difficult now to\\nfind even a fault that had not been argued into a beauty.\\nIn this perplexity I was one morning turning over his pages\\nwhen I casually opened upon the comic scenes of Henry IV.,\\nand was in a moment completely lost in the madcap revelry of\\nthe Boar s Head Tavern. So vividly and naturally are these\\nscenes of humor depicted, and with such force and consistency\\nare the characters sustained, that they become mingled up in\\nthe mind with the facts and personages of real life. To few\\nreaders does it occur that these are all ideal creations of a poet s\\nbrain, and that, in sober truth, no such knot of merry roisterers\\never enlivened the dull neighborhood of Eastcheap.\\nFor my part, I love to give myself up to the illusions of\\npoetry. A hero of fiction that never existed is just as valuable\\nto me as a hero of history that existed a thousand years since\\nand, if I may be excused such an insensibility to the common\\nties of human nature, I would not give up fat Jack for half the\\ngreat men of ancient chronicle. What have the heroes of yore\\ndone for me or men like me They have conquered countries\\nof which I do not enjoy an acre, or they have gained laurels of\\nwhich I do not inherit a leaf, or they have furnished examples\\nof hair-brained prowess which I have neither the opportunity\\nnor the inclination to follow. But old Jack Falstaff! kind\\nJack Falstaff sweet Jack Falstaff has enlarged the boundaries\\nof human enjoyment he has added vast regions of wit and good-\\nhumor in which the poorest man may revel, and has bequeathed", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "108 THE SKETCH BOOK\\na never- failing inheritance of jolly laughter to make mankind\\nmerrier and better to the latest posterity.\\nA thought suddenly struck me. I will make a pilgrimage\\nto Eastcheap, said I, closing the book, and see if the old\\nBoar s Head Tavern still exists. Who knows but I may light\\nupon some legendary traces of Dame Quickly and her guests\\nAt any rate, there will be a kindred pleasure in treading the\\nhalls once vocal with their mirth to that the toper enjoys in\\nsmelling to the empty cask, once filled with generous wine.\\nThe resolution was no sooner formed than put in execution.\\nI forbear to treat of the various adventures and wonders I en-\\ncountered in my travels of the haunted regions of Cock Lane\\nof the faded glories of Little Britain and the parts adjacent\\nwhat perils I ran in Cateaton Street and Old Jewry of the\\nrenowned Guildhall and its two stunted giants, the pride and\\nwonder of the city, and the terror of all unlucky urchins and\\nhow I visited London Stone and struck my staff upon it in imi-\\ntation of that arch-rebel Jack Cade.\\nLet it suffice to say that I at length arrived in merry East-\\ncheap, that ancient region of wit and wassail, where the very\\nnames of the streets relished of good cheer, as Pudding Lane\\nbears testimony even at the present day. For Eastcheap, says old\\nStow, was always famous for its convivial doings. The cookes\\ncried hot ribbes of beef roasted, pies well baked, and other\\nvictuals there was clattering of pewter pots, harpe, pipe, and\\nsawtrie. Alas how sadly is the scene changed since the\\nroaring days of Falstaff and old Stow The madcap roisterer has\\ngiven place to the plodding tradesman the clattering of pots\\nand the sound of harpe and sawtrie to the din of carts and\\nthe accurst dinging of the dustman s bell and no song is\\nheard save, haply, the strain of some siren from Billingsgate\\nchanting the eulogy of deceased mackerel.\\nI sought in vain for the ancient abode of Dame Quickly.\\nThe only relic of it is a boar s head, carved in relief in stone,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "THE BOAR S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 109\\nwhich formerly served as the sign, but at present is built into\\nthe parting line of two houses which stand on the site of the\\nrenowned old tavern.\\nFor the history of this little abode of good fellowship I was\\nreferred to a tallow-chandler s widow opposite, who had been\\nborn and brought up on the spot, and was looked up to as the\\nindisputable chronicler of the neighborhood. I found her seated\\nin a little back parlor, the window of which looked out upon a\\nyard about eight feet square laid out as a flower garden, while\\na glass door opposite afforded a distant peep of the street through\\na vista of soap and tallow candles the two views which com-\\nprised, in all probability, her prospects in life and the little\\nworld in which she had lived and moved and had her being for\\nthe better part of a century.\\nTo be versed in the history of Eastcheap, great and little,\\nfrom London Stone even unto the Monument, was doubtless, in\\nher opinion, to be acquainted with the history of the universe.\\nYet, with all this, she possessed the simplicity of true wisdom,\\nand that liberal communicative disposition which I have gener-\\nally remarked in intelligent old ladies knowing in the concerns\\nof their neighborhood.\\nHer information, however, did not extend far back into\\nantiquity. She could throw no light upon the history of the\\nBoar s Head from the time that Dame Quickly espoused the\\nvaliant Pistol until the great fire of London, when it was\\nunfortunately burnt down. It was soon rebuilt, and continued\\nto flourish under the old name and sign, until a dying landlord,\\nstruck with remorse for double scores, bad measures, and other\\niniquities which are incident to the sinful race of publicans,\\nendeavored to make his peace with Heaven by bequeathing the\\ntavern to St. Michael s Church, Crooked Lane, towards the\\nsupporting of a chaplain. For some time the vestry meetings\\nwere regularly held there, but it was observed that the old\\nBoar never held up his head under church government. He", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "110 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ngradually declined, and finally gave his last gasp about thirty\\nyears since. The tavern was then turned into shops, but she\\ninformed me that a picture of it was still preserved in St.\\nMichael s Church, which stood just in the rear. To get a sight\\nof this picture was now my determination so, having informed\\nmyself of the abode of the sexton, I took my leave of the vener-\\nable chronicler of Eastcheap, my visit having doubtless raised\\ngreatly her opinion of her legendary lore and furnished an im-\\nportant incident in the history of her life.\\nIt cost me some difficulty and much curious inquiry to ferret\\nout the humble hanger-on to the church. I had to explore\\nCrooked Lane and divers little alleys and elbows and dark pas-\\nsages with which this old city is perforated like an ancient cheese\\nor a worm-eaten chest of drawers. At length I traced him to\\na corner of a small court surrounded by lofty houses, where the\\ninhabitants enjoy about as much of the face of heaven as a\\ncommunity of frogs at the bottom of a well.\\nThe sexton was a meek, acquiescing little man, of a bowing,\\nlowly habit, yet he had a pleasant twinkling in his eye, and, if\\nencouraged, would now and then hazard a small pleasantry, such\\nas a man of his low estate might venture to make in the com-\\npany of high churchwardens and other mighty men of the earth.\\nI found him in company with the deputy organist, seated apart,\\nlike Milton s angels, discoursing, no doubt, on high doctrinal\\npoints, and settling the affairs of the church over a friendly pot\\nof ale for the lower classes of English seldom deliberate on\\nany weighty matter without the assistance of a cool tankard to\\nclear their understandings. I arrived at the moment when they\\nhad finished their ale and their argument, and were about to\\nrepair to the church to put it in order so, having made known\\nmy wishes, I received their gracious permission to accompany them.\\nThe church of St. Michael s, Crooked Lane, standing a short\\ndistance from Billingsgate, is enriched with the tombs of many\\nfishmongers of renown; and as every profession has its galaxy", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "THE BOAR S HEAD TAVERX, EASTCHEAP 111\\nof glory and its constellation of great men, I presume the monu-\\nment of a mighty fishmonger of the olden time is regarded with\\nas much reverence by succeeding generations of the craft, as\\npoets feel on contemplating the tomb of Virgil or soldiers the\\nmonument of a Marlborough or Turenne.\\nI cannot but turn aside, while thus speaking of illustrious men,\\nto observe that St. Michael s, Crooked Lane, contains also the\\nashes of that doughty champion. William Walworth, Knight,\\nwho so manfully clove down the sturdy wight, Wat Tyler, in\\nSmithfleld a hero worthy of honorable blazon, as almost the\\nonly Lord Mayor on record famous for deeds of arms, the sover-\\neigns of Cockney being generally renowned as the most pacific\\nof all potentates.\\nAdjoining the church, in a small cemetery, immediately under\\nthe back window of what was once the Boar s Head, stands the\\ntombstone of Robert Preston, whilom drawer at the tavern. It\\nis now nearly a century since this trusty drawer of good liquor\\nclosed his bustling career and was thus quietly deposited within\\ncall of his customers. As I was clearing away the weeds from\\nhis epitaph the little sexton drew me on one side with a myste-\\nrious air, and informed me in a low voice that once upon a time,\\non a dark wintry night, when the wind was unruly, howling,\\nand whistling, banging about doors and windows, and twirling\\nweathercocks, so that the living were frightened out of their\\nbeds, and even the dead could not sleep quietly in their graves,\\nthe ghost of honest Preston, which happened to be airing itself\\nin the churchyard, was attracted by the well-known call of\\nWaiter from the Boar s Head, and made its sudden appear-\\nance in the midst of a roaring club just as the parish clerk was\\nsinging a stave from the mirre garland of Captain Death to\\nthe discomfiture of sundry train- band captains and the conver-\\nsion of an infidel attorney, who became a zealous Christian on\\nthe spot, and was never known to twist the truth afterward,\\nexcept in the way of business.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "112 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nI beg it may be remembered that I do not pledge myself foi\\nthe authenticity of this anecdote, though it is well known that\\nthe churchyards and by-corners of this old metropolis are very\\nmuch infested with perturbed spirits and every one must have\\nheard of the Cock Lane ghost, and the apparition that guards\\nthe regalia in the Tower which has frightened so many bold\\nsentinels almost out of their wits.\\nBe all this as it may, this Robert Preston seems to have been\\na worthy successor to the nimble-tongued Francis, who attended\\nupon the revels of Prince Hal to have been equally prompt\\nwith his Anon, anon, sir; and to have transcended his prede-\\ncessor in honesty for Falstaff, the veracity of whose taste no\\nman will venture to impeach, flatly accuses Francis of putting\\nlime in his sack, whereas honest Preston s epitaph lauds him for\\nthe sobriety of his conduct, the soundness of his wine, and the\\nfairness of his measure. The worthy dignitaries of the church,\\nhowever, did not appear much captivated by the sober virtues of\\nthe tapster the deputy organist, who had a moist look out of\\nthe eye, made some shrewd remark on the abstemiousness of a\\nman brought up among full hogsheads, and the little sexton\\ncorroborated his opinion by a significant wink and a dubious\\nshake of the head.\\nThus far my researches, though they threw much light on the\\nhistory of tapsters, fishmongers, and Lord Mayors, yet disap-\\npointed me in the great object of my quest, the picture of the\\nBoar s Head Tavern. No such painting was to be found in the\\nchurch of St. Michael s. Marry and amen, said I, here\\nendeth my research So I was giving the matter up, with\\nthe air of a baffled antiquary, when my friend the sexton, per-\\nceiving me to be curious in everything relative to the old tavern,\\noffered to show me the choice vessels of the vestry, which had\\nbeen handed down from remote times when the parish meetings\\nwere held at the Boar s Head. These were deposited in the\\nparish club-room, which had been transferred, on the decline", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "THE BOAR S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 113\\nof the ancient establishment, to a tavern in the neighbor-\\nhood.\\nA few steps brought us to the house, which stands No. 12\\nMiles Lane, bearing the title of The Mason s Arms, and is kept\\nby Master Edward Honeyball, the bully-rock of the establish-\\nment. It is one of those little taverns which abound in the\\nheart of the city and form the centre of gossip and intelligence\\nof the neighborhood. We entered the bar-room, which was nar-\\nrow and darkling, for in these close lanes but few rays of re-\\nflected light are enabled to struggle down to the inhabitants,\\nwhose broad day is at best but a tolerable twilight. The room\\nwas partitioned into boxes, each containing a table spread with\\na clean white cloth, ready for dinner. This showed that the\\nguests were of the good old stamp, and divided their day equally,\\nfor it was but just one o clock. At the lower end of the room\\nwas a clear coal fire, before which a breast of lamb was roast-\\ning. A row of bright brass candlesticks and pewter mugs\\nglistened along the mantelpiece, and an old-fashioned clock\\nticked in one corner. There was something primitive in this\\nmedley of kitchen, parlor, and hall that carried me back to\\nearlier times, and pleased me. The place, indeed, was humble,\\nbut everything had that look ol order and neatness which\\nbespeaks the superintendence of a notable English housewife.\\nA group of amphibious-looking beings, who might be either\\nfishermen or sailors, were regaling themselves in one of the\\nboxes. As I was a visitor of rather higher pretensions, I was\\nushered into a little misshapen back room having at least nine\\ncorners. It was lighted by a sky-light, furnished with anti-\\nquated leathern chairs, and ornamented with the portrait of a\\nfat pig. It was evidently appropriated to particular customers,\\nand I found a shabby gentleman in a red nose and oil-cloth hat\\nseated in one corner meditating on a half-empty pot of porter.\\nThe old sexton had taken the landlady aside, and with an air\\nof profound importance imparted to her my errand. Dame", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "114 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nHoneyball was a likely, plump, bustling little woman, and no\\nbad substitute for that paragon of hostesses, Dame Quickly.\\nShe seemed delighted with an opportunity to oblige, and, hurry-\\ning upstairs to the archives f her house, where the precious\\nvessels of the parish clut were deposited, she returned, smiling\\nand courtesying, with them m her hands.\\nThe first she presented me was a japanned iron tobacco-box\\nof gigantic size, out of which, I was told, the vestry had smoked\\nat their stated meetings since time immemorial, and which was\\nnever suffered to be profaned by vulgar hands or used on com-\\nmon occasions. I received it with becoming reverence, but what\\nwas my delight at beholding on its cover the identical painting\\nof which I was in quest There was displayed the outside of\\nthe Boar s Head Tavern, and before the door was to be seen the\\nwhole convivial group at table, in full revel, pictured with that\\nwonderful fidelity and force with which the portraits of renowned\\ngenerals and commodores are illustrated on tobacco-boxes, for the\\nbenefit of posterity. Lest, however, there should be any mis-\\ntake, the cunning limner had warily inscribed the names of\\nPrince Hal and Falstaff on the bottoms of their chairs.\\nOn the inside of the cover was an inscription, nearly obliter-\\nated, recording that this box was the gift of Sir Richard G-ore,\\nfor the use of the vestry meetings at the Boar s Head Tavern,\\nand that it was repaired and beautified by his successor, Mr.\\nJohn Packard, 1767. Such is a faithful description of this\\naugust and venerable relic and I question whether the learned\\nScriblerius contemplated his Roman shield, or the Knights of\\nthe Round Table the long-sought San-greal, with more ex-\\nultation.\\nWhile I was meditating on it with enraptured gaze, Dame\\nHoneyball, who was highly gratified by the interest it excited,\\nput in my hands a drinking-cup or goblet which also belonged\\nto the vestry, and was descended from the old Boar s Head.\\nIt bore the inscription of having been the gift of Francis", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "THE BOAR S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP 115\\nWythers, Knight, and was held, she told me, in exceeding great\\nvalue, being considered very an tyke. This last opinion was\\nstrengthened by the shabby gentleman in the red nose and oil-\\ncloth hat, and whom I strongly suspected of being a lineal\\ndescendant from the valiant Bardolph. He suddenly aroused\\nfrom his meditation on the pot of porter, and casting a knowing\\nlook at the goblet, exclaimed, Ay, ay the head don t ache\\nnow that made that there article\\nThe great importance attached to this memento of ancient\\nrevelry of modern churchwardens at first puzzled me but there\\nis nothing sharpens the apprehension so much as antiquarian\\nresearch for I immediately perceived that this could be no\\nother than the identical parcel-gilt goblet on which Falstaff\\nmade his loving but faithless vow to Dame Quickly, and which\\nwould, of course, be treasured up with care among the regalia\\nof her domains as a testimony of that solemn contract.\\nMine hostess, indeed, gave me a long history hjw the goblet\\nhad been handed down from generation to generation. She also\\nentertained me with many particulars concerning the worthy\\nvestrymen who have seated themselves thus quietly on the\\nstools of the ancient roisterers of Eastcheap, and, like so many\\ncommentators, utter clouds of smoke in honor of Shakespeare.\\nThese I forbear to relate, lest my readers should not be as curi-\\nous in these matters as myself. Suffice it to say, the neighbors,\\none and all, about Eastcheap believe that Falstaff and his merry\\ncrew actually lived and revelled there. Nay, there are several\\nlegendary anecdotes concerning him still extant among the oldest\\nfrequenters of the Mason s Arms, which they give as transmitted\\ndown from their forefathers; and Mr. M Kash, an Irish hair-\\ndresser, whose shop stands on the site of the old Boar s Head,\\nhas several dry jokes of Fat Jack s, not laid down in the books,\\nwith which he makes his customers ready to die of laughter.\\nI now turned to my friend the sexton to make some further\\ninquiries, but I found him sunk in pensive meditation. His", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "116 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nhead had declined a little on one side a deep sigh heaved from\\nthe very bottom of his stomach and, though I could not see a\\ntear trembling in his eye, yet a moisture was evidently stealing\\nfrom a corner of his mouth. I followed the direction of his eye\\nthrough the door which stood open, and found it fixed wistfully\\non the savory breast of lamb roasting in dripping richness before\\nthe fire.\\nI now called to mind that in the eagerness of my recondite\\ninvestigation, I was keeping the poor man from his dinner. My\\nbowels yearned with sympathy, and, putting in his hand a small\\ntoken of my gratitude and goodness, I departed, with a hearty\\nbenediction on him, Dame Honeyball, and the parish club of\\nCrooked Lane, not forgetting my shabby but sententious friend\\nin the oil-cloth hat and copper nose.\\nThus have I given a tedious brief account of this interest-\\ning research, for which, if it prove too short and unsatisfactory,\\nI can only plead my inexperience in this branch of literature, so\\ndeservedly popular at the present day. I am aware that a more\\nskilful illustrator of the immortal bard would have swelled the\\nmaterials I have touched upon to a good merchantable bulk,\\ncomprising the biographies of William Walworth, Jack Straw,\\nand Robert Preston some notice of the eminent fishmongers of\\nSt. Michael s the history of Eastcheap, great and little private\\nanecdotes of Dame Honeyball and her pretty daughter, whom I\\nhave not even mentioned to say nothing of a damsel tending\\nthe breast of lamb (and whom, by the way, I remarked to be a\\ncomely lass with a neat foot and ankle) the whole enlivened by\\nthe riots of Wat Tyler and illuminated by the great fire of London.\\nAll this I leave, as a rich mine, to be worked by future com-\\nmentators, nor do I despair of seeing the tobacco-box and the\\nparcel- gilt goblet which I have thus brought to light the\\nsubjects of future engravings, and almost as fruitful of volumi-\\nnous dissertations and disputes as the shield of Achilles or the\\nik r-famed Portland Yase.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 117\\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 bought,\\nIn time s great period 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 half-dreaming moods of mind in which we\\nnaturally steal away from noise and glare, and seek some quiet\\nhaunt where we may indulge our reveries and build our air cas-\\ntles undisturbed. In such a mood I was loitering about the old\\ngray cloisters of Westminster Abbey, enjoying that luxury of\\nwandering thought which one is apt to dignify with the name\\nof reflection, when suddenly an irruption of madcap boys from\\nWestminster school, playing at football, broke in upon the mo-\\nnastic stillness of the place, making the vaulted passages and\\nmouldering tombs echo with their merriment. I sought to take\\nrefuge from their noise by penetrating still deeper into the soli-\\ntudes of the pile, and applied to one of the vergers for admission\\nto the library. He conducted me through a portal rich with the\\ncrumbling sculpture of former ages, which opened upon a gloomy\\npassage leading to the chapter-house and the chamber in which\\nDoomsday Book is deposited. Just within the passage is a\\nsmall door on the left. To this the verger applied a key it\\nwas double locked, and opened with some difficulty, as if seldom\\nused. We now ascended a dark, narrow staircase, and, passing\\nthrough a second door, entered the library.\\nI found myself in a lofty antique hall, the roof supported by\\nmassive joists of old English oak. It was soberly lighted by a\\nrow of Gothic windows at a considerable height from the floor", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "118 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nand which apparently opened upon the roofs of the cloisters.\\nAn ancient picture of some reverend dignitary of the Church in\\nhis robes hung over the fireplace. Around the hall and in a\\nsmall gallery were the books, arranged in carved oaken cases.\\nThey consisted principally of old polemical writers, and were\\nmuch more worn by time than use. In the centre of the library\\nwas a solitary table with two or three books on it, an inkstand\\nwithout ink, and a few pens parched by long disuse. The place\\nseemed fitted for quiet study and profound meditation. It was\\nburied deep among the massive walls of the abbey and shut up\\nfrom the tumult of the world. I could only hear now and then\\nthe shouts of the school-boys faintly swelling from the cloisters,\\nand the sound of a bell tolling for prayers echoing soberly along\\nthe roofs of the abbey. By degrees the shouts of merriment\\ngrew fainter and fainter, and at length died away the bell\\nceased to toll, and a profound silence reigned through the dusky\\nhall.\\nI had taken down a little thick quarto, curiously bound in\\nparchment, with brass clasps, and seated myself at the table in\\na venerable elbow-chair. Instead of reading, however, I was\\nbeguiled by the solemn monastic air and lifeless quiet of the\\nplace into a train of musing. As I looked around upon the old\\nvolumes in their mouldering covers, thus ranged on the shelves\\nand apparently never disturbed in their repose, I could not but\\nconsider the library a kind of literary catacomb, where authors,\\nlike mummies, are piously entombed and left to blacken and\\nmoulder in dusty oblivion.\\nHow much, thought I, has each of these volumes, now thrust\\naside with such indifference, cost some aching head how many\\nweary days how many sleepless nights How have their\\nauthors buried themselves in the solitude of their ceils and\\ncloisters, shut themselves up from the face of man, and the still\\nmore blessed face of Nature and devoted themselves to painful\\nresearch and intense reflection 1 And all for what 1 To occupy", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 119\\nan inch of dusty shelf to have the titles of their works read\\nnow and then in a future age by some drowsy churchman or\\ncasual straggler like myself, and in another age be lost even to\\nremembrance. Such is the amount of this boasted immortality.\\nA mere temporary rumor, a local sound like the tone of that\\nbell which has tolled among these towers, rilling the ear for a\\nmoment, lingering transiently in echo, and then passing away\\nlike a thing that was not\\nWhile I sat half-mourning, half-meditating, these unprofitable\\nspeculations, with my head resting on my hand, I was thrum-\\nming with the other hand upon the quarto, until I accidentally\\nloosened the clasps when, to my utter astonishment, the little\\nbook gave two or three yawns, like one awaking from a deep\\nsleep, then a husky hem, and at length began to talk. At first\\nits voice was very hoarse and broken, being much troubled by a\\ncobweb which some studious spider had woven across it, and\\nhaving probably contracted a cold from long exposure to the\\nchills and damps of the abbey. In a short time, however, it\\nbecame more distinct, and I soon found it an exceedingly fluent,\\nconversable little tome. Its language, to be sure, was rather\\nquaint and obsolete, and its pronunciation what, in the present\\nday, w T ould be deemed barbarous but I shall endeavor, as far\\nas I am able, to render it in modern parlance.\\nIt began with railings about the neglect of the world, about\\nmerit being suffered to languish in obscurity, and other such\\ncommonplace topics of literary repining, and complained bitterly\\nthat it had not been opened for more than two centuries that\\nthe dean only looked now and then into the library, sometimes\\ntook down a volume or two, trifled with them for a few moments,\\nand then returned them to their shelves. What a plague do\\nthey mean said the little quarto, which I began to perceive\\nwas somewhat choleric what a plague do they mean by\\nkeeping several thousand volumes of us shut up here, and\\nwatched by a set of old vergers, like so many beauties in a", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "120 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nharem, merely to be looked at now and then by the dean\\nBooks were written to give pleasure and to be enjoyed and 1\\nwould have a rule passed that the dean should pay each of us a\\nvisit at least once a year or, if he is not equal to the task, let\\nthem once in a while turn loose the whole school of Westminster\\namong us, that at any rate we may now and then have an\\nairing.\\nSoftly, my worthy friend, replied I; you are not aware\\nhow much better you are off than most books of your genera-\\ntion. By being stored away in this ancient library you are like\\nthe treasured remains of those saints and monarchs which lie\\nenshrined in the adjoining chapels, while the remains of your\\ncontemporary mortals, left to the ordinary course of Nature,\\nhave long since returned to dust.\\nSir, said the little tome, ruffling his leaves and looking big,\\nI was written for all the world, not for the bookworms of\\nan abbey. I was intended to circulate from hand to hand, like\\nother great contemporary works but here have I been clasped\\nup for more than two centuries, and might have silently fallen\\na prey to these worms that are playing the very vengeance with\\nmy intestines if you had not by chance given me an opportunity\\nof uttering a few last words before I go to pieces.\\nMy good friend, rejoined I, had you been left to the cir-\\nculation of which you speak, you would long ere this have been\\nno more. To judge from your physiognomy, you are now well\\nstricken in years very few of your contemporaries can be at\\npresent in existence, and those few owe their longevity to being\\nimmured like yourself in old libraries which, suffer me to add,\\ninstead of likening to harems, you might more properly and\\ngratefully have compared to those infirmaries attached to reli-\\ngious establishments for the benefit of the old and decrepit, and\\nwhere, by quiet fostering and no employment, they often endure\\nto an amazingly good-for-nothing old age. You talk of your\\ncontemporaries as if in circulation. Where do we meet witn", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 121\\ntheir works What do we hear of Robert Grosteste of Lincoln\\nNo one could have toiled harder than he for immortality. He is\\nsaid to have written nearly two hundred volumes. He built, as\\nit were, a pyramid of books to perpetuate his name but, alas\\nthe pyramid has long since fallen, and only a few fragments are\\nscattered in various libraries, where they are scarcely disturbed\\neven by the antiquarian. What do we hear of Giraldus Cam-\\nbrensis, the historian, antiquary, philosopher, theologian, and\\npoet He declined two bishoprics that he might shut himself\\nup and write for posterity but posterity never inquires after\\nhis labors. What of Henry of Huntingdon, who, besides a\\nlearned history of England, wrote a treatise on the contempt of\\nthe world, which the world has revenged by forgetting him\\nWhat is quoted of Joseph of Exeter, styled the miracle of his\\nage in classical composition-? Of his three great heroic poems,\\none is lost forever, excepting a mere fragment the others are\\nknown only to a few of the curious in literature and as to his\\nlove verses and epigrams, they have entirely disappeared.\\nWhat is in current use of John Wallis the Franciscan, who\\nacquired the name of the tree of life 1 Of William of Malms-\\nbury of Simeon of Durham of Benedict of Peterbor-\\nough of John Hanvill of St. Albans of\\nPrithee, friend, cried the quarto, in a testy tone, how old\\ndo you think me You are talking of authors that lived long\\nbefore, my time, and wrote either in Latin or French, so that\\nthey in a manner expatriated themselves and deserved to be\\nforgotten but I, sir, was ushered into the world from the\\npress of the renowned Wynkyn de Worde.\u00c2\u00b0 I was written in\\nmy own native tongue, at a time when the language had become\\nfixed and indeed I was considered a model of pure and elegant\\nEnglish.\\n(I should observe that these remarks were couched in such\\nintolerably antiquated terms that I have had infinite difficulty\\nin rendering them into modern phraseology.)", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "122 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nI cry you mercy, said I, for mistaking your age; but it\\nmatters little almost all the writers of your time have likewise\\npassed into forgetfulness, and De Worde s publications are mere\\nliterary rarities among book-collectors. The purity and stability\\nof language, too, on which you found your claims to perpetuity,\\nhave been the fallacious dependence of authors of every age,\\neven back to the times of the worthy Robert of Gloucester, who\\nwrote his history in rhymes of mongrel Saxon. Even now\\nmany talk of Spenser s well of pure English undefilecl, as if\\nthe language ever sprang from a well or fountain-head, and was\\nnot rather a mere confluence of various tongues, perpetually\\nsubject to changes and intermixtures. It is this which has\\nmade English literature so extremely mutable, and the reputa-\\ntion built upon it so fleeting. Unless thought can be committed\\nto something more permanent and unchangeable than such a me-\\ndium, even thought must share the fate of everything else, and\\nfall into decay. This should serve as a check upon the vanity\\nand exultation of the most popular writer. He finds the lan-\\nguage in which he has embarked his fame gradually altering and\\nsubject to the dilapidations of time and the caprice of fashion.\\nHe looks back and beholds the early authors of his country,\\nonce the favorites of their day, supplanted by modern writers.\\nA few short ages have covered them with obscurity, and their\\nmerits can only be relished by the quaint taste of the book-worm.\\nAnd such, he anticipates, will be the fate of his own work,\\nwhich, however it may be admired in its day and held up as\\na model of purity, will in the course of years grow antiquated\\nand obsolete, until it shall become almost as unintelligible in its\\nnative land as an Egyptian obelisk or one of those Runic in-\\nscriptions said to exist in the deserts of Tartary. I declare,\\nadded I, with some emotion, when I contemplate a modern\\nlibrary, filled with new works in all the bravery of rich gilding\\nand binding, I feel disposed to sit down and weep, like the good\\nXerxes when he surveyed his army, pranked out in all the splen", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 123\\ndor of military array, and reflected that in one hundred years not\\none of them would be in existence.\\nAh, said the little quarto, with a heavy sigh, I see how\\nit is these modern scribblers have superseded all the good old\\nauthors. I suppose nothing is read nowadays but Sir Philip\\nSidney s Arcadia, Sackville s stately plays and Mirror for\\nMagistrates, or the fine-spun euphuisms of the unparalleled\\nJohnLyly.\\nThere you are again mistaken, said I the writers whom\\nyou suppose in vogue, because they happened to be so when you\\nwere last in circulation, have long since had their day. Sir\\nPhilip Sidney s Arcadia, the immortality of which w T as so fondly\\npredicted by his admirers, and which, in truth, was full of\\nnoble thoughts, delicate images, and graceful turns of language,\\nis now scarcely ever mentioned. Sackville has strutted into\\nobscurity and even Lyly, though his writings were once the\\ndelight of a court and apparently perpetuated by a proverb, is\\nnow scarcely known even by name. A whole crowd of authors\\nwho wrote and wrangled at the time have likewise gone down,\\nwith all their writings and their controversies. Wave after\\nwave of succeeding literature has rolled over them, until they\\nare buried so deep that it is only now and then that some in-\\ndustrious diver after fragments of antiquity brings up a speci-\\nmen for the gratification of the curious.\\nFor my part, I continued, I consider this mutability of\\nlanguage a wise precaution of Providence for the benefit of the\\nworld at large, and of authors in particular. To reason from\\nanalogy, we daily behold the varied and beautiful tribes of vege-\\ntables springing up, flourishing, adorning the fields for a short\\ntime, and then fading into dust, to make way for their succes-\\nsors. Were not this the case, the fecundity of nature would\\nbe a grievance instead of a blessing. The earth would groan\\nwith rank and excessive vegetation, and its surface become a\\ntangled wilderness. In like manner, the works of genius and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "124 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nlearning decline and make way for subsequent productions.\\nLanguage gradually varies, and with it fade away the writings\\nof authors who have flourished their allotted time otherwise\\nthe creative powers of genius would overstock the world, and\\nthe mind would be completely bewildered in the endless mazes of\\nliterature. Formerly there were some restraints on this excessive\\nmultiplication. Works had to be transcribed by hand, which\\nwas a slow and laborious operation they were written either on\\nparchment, which was expensive, so that one work was often\\nerased to make way for another; or on papyrus, which was\\nfragile and extremely perishable. Authorship was a limited\\nand unprofitable craft pursued chiefly by monks in the leisure\\nand solitude of their cloisters. The accumulation of manuscripts\\nwas slow and costly, and confined almost entirely to monasteries.\\nTo these circumstances it may, in some measure, be owing that\\nwe have not been inundated by the intellect of antiquity that\\nihe fountains of thought have not been broken up and modern\\ngenius drowned in the deluge. But the inventions of paper and\\nthe press have put an end to all these restraints. They have\\nmade every one a writer, and enabled every mind to pour itself t\\ninto print, and diffuse itself over the whole intellectual world.\\nThe consequences are alarming. The stream of literature has\\nswollen into a torrent augmented into a river expanded into\\na sea. A few centuries since five or six hundred manuscripts\\nconstituted a great library but what would you say to libraries,\\nsuch as actually exist, containing three or four hundred thou-\\nsand volumes, legions of authors at the same time busy, and the\\npress going on with fearfully increasing activity to double and\\nquadruple the number Unless some unforeseen mortality\\nshould break out among the progeny of the Muse, now that she\\nhas become so prolific, I tremble for posterity. I fear the mere\\nfluctuation of language will not be sufficient. Criticism may do\\nmuch. It increases with the increase of literature, and resem-\\nbles one of those salutary checks on population spoken of by", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE 125\\neconomists. All possible encouragement, therefore, should be\\ngiven to the growth of critics, good or bad. But I fear all will\\nbe in vain let criticism do what it may, writers will write,\\nprinters will print, and the world will inevitably be overstocked\\nwith good books. It will soon be the employment of a lifetime\\nmerely to learn their names. Many a man of passable informa-\\ntion at the present day reads scarcely anything but reviews, and\\nbefore long a man of erudition will be little better than a mere\\nwalking catalogue.\\nMy very good sir, said the little quarto, yawning most\\ndrearily in my face, excuse my interrupting you, but I per-\\nceive you are rather given to prose, I would ask the fate of an\\nauthor who was making some noise just as I left the world.\\nHis reputation, however, was considered quite temporary. The\\nlearned shook their heads at him, for he was a poor half-edu-\\ncated varlet, that knew little of Latin, and nothing of Greek,\\nand had been obliged to run the country for deer-stealing. I\\nthink his name was Shakespeare. I presume he soon sunk into\\noblivion.\\nOn the contrary, said I, it is owing to that very man that\\nthe literature of his period has experienced a duration beyond\\nthe ordinary term of English literature. There rise authors\\nnow and then who seem proof against the mutability of lan-\\nguage because they have rooted themselves in the unchanging\\nprinciples of human nature. They are like gigantic trees that\\nwe sometimes see on the banks of a stream, which by their vast\\nand deep roots, penetrating through the mere surface and laying\\nhold on the very foundations of the earth, preserve the soil\\naround them from being swept away by the ever-flowing current,\\nand hold up many a neighboring plant, and perhaps worthless\\nweed, to perpetuity. Such is the case with Shakespeare, whom\\nw r e behold defying the encroachments of time, retaining in mod-\\nern use the language and literature of his day, and giving dura\\ntion to many an indifferent author, merely from having flourished", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "126 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nin his vicinity. But even he, I grieve to say, is gradually as\\nsuming the tint of age, and his whole form is overrun by a pro-\\nfusion of commentators, who, like clambering vines and creepers,\\nalmost bury the noble plant that upholds them.\\nHere the little quarto began to heave his sides and chuckle,\\nuntil at length he broke out into a plethoric fit of laughter that\\nhad wellnigh choked him by reason of his excessive corpulency.\\nMighty well! cried he, as soon as he could recover breath,\\nmighty well and so you would persuade me that the litera-\\nture of an age is to be perpetuated by a vagabond deer-stealer\\nby a man without learning by a poet forsooth a poet\\nAnd here he wheezed forth another fit of laughter.\\nI confess that I felt somewhat nettled at this rudeness, which,\\nhowever, I pardoned on account of his having flourished in a less\\npolished age. I determined, nevertheless, not to give up my\\npoint.\\nYes, resumed I, positively, a poet; for of all writers he\\nhas the best chance for immortality. Others may write from\\nthe head, but he writes from the heart, and the heart will always\\nunderstand him. He is the faithful portrayer of Nature, whose\\nfeatures are always the same and always interesting. Prose\\nwriters are voluminous and unwieldy their pages crowded with\\ncommonplaces, and their thoughts expanded into tediousness.\\nBut with the true poet everything is terse, touching, or brilliant.\\nT Ie gives the choicest thoughts in the choicest language. He\\nllustrates them by everything that he sees most striking in\\nnature and art. He enriches them by pictures of human life,\\nsuch as it is passing before him. His writings, therefore, con-\\ntain the spirit the aroma, if I may use the phrase of the\\nage in which he lives. They are caskets which enclose within\\na small compass the wealth of the language its family jewels,\\nwhich are thus transmitted in a portable form to posterity.\\nThe setting may occasionally be antiquated, and require now\\nand then to be renewed, as in the case of Chaucer but the brill", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "RURAL FUNERALS 127\\niancy and intrinsic value of the gems continue unaltered. Cast\\na look back over the long reach of literary history. What vast\\nvalleys of dulness filled with monkish legends and academical\\ncontroversies What bogs of theological speculations What\\ndreary wastes of metaphysics Here and there only do we be-\\nhold the heaven-illumined bards, elevated like beacons on their\\nwidely- separated heights, to transmit the pure light of poetical\\nintelligence from age to age.\\nI was just about to launch forth into eulogiums upon the\\npoets of the day when the sudden opening of the door caused\\nme to turn my head. It was the verger, who came to inform\\nme that it was time to close the library. I sought to have a\\nparting word with the quarto, but the worthy little tome was\\nsilent the clasps were closed and it looked perfectly uncon-\\nscious of all that had passed. I have been to the library two\\nor three times since, and have endeavored to draw it into fur-\\nther conversation, but in vain and whether all this rambling\\ncolloquy actually took place, or whether it was another of those\\nodd day-dreams to which I am subject, I have never, to this\\nmoment, been able to discover.\\nEURAL 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 customs of rural\\nlife which still linger in some parts of England are those of\\nstrewing flowers before the funerals and planting them at the\\ngraves of departed friends. These, it is said, are the remains", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "128 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nof some of the rites of the primitive Church but they are oi\\nstill higher antiquity, having been observed among the Greeks\\nand Romans, and frequently mentioned by their writers, and\\nwere no doubt the spontaneous tributes of unlettered affection\\noriginating long before art had tasked itself to modulate sorrow\\ninto song or story it on the monument. They are now only to\\nbe met with in the most distant and retired places of the king-\\ndom, where fashion and innovation have not been able to throng\\nin and trample out all the curious and interesting traces of the\\nolden time.\\nIn Glamorganshire, we are told, the bed whereon the corpse\\nlies is covered with flowers, a custom alluded to in one of the\\nwild and plaintive 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 rite observed in\\nsome of the remote villages of the south at the funeral of a\\nfemale who has died young and unmarried. A chaplet of white\\nflowers is borne before the corpse by a young girl nearest in age,\\nsize, and resemblance, and is afterwards hung up in the church\\nover the accustomed seat of the deceased. These chaplets are\\nsometimes made of white paper, in imitation of flowers, and\\ninside of them is generally a pair of white gloves. They are\\nintended as emblems of the purity of the deceased, and the\\ncrown of glory which she has received in heaven.\\nIn some parts of the country, also, the dead are carried to the\\ngrave with the singing of psalms and hymns a kind of\\ntriumph, to show, says Bourne, that they have finished\\ntheir course with joy, and are become conquerors. This, I am\\ninformed, is observed in some of the northern counties, particu-\\nlarly in Northumberland, and it has a pleasing though melan-\\ncholy effect to hear of a still evening in some lonely country", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "RURAL FUNERALS 129\\nscene the mournful melody of a funeral dirge swelling from a\\ndistance, and to see the train slowly moving along the landscape.\\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. Herrick.\\nThere is also a solemn respect paid by the traveller to the\\npassing funeral in these sequestered places for such spectacles,\\noccurring among quiet abodes of Nature, sink deep into the\\nsoul. As the mourning train approaches he pauses, uncovered,\\nto let it go by he then follows silently in the rear sometimes\\nquite to the grave, at other times for a few hundred yards, and,\\nhaving paid this tribute of respect to the deceased, turns and\\nresumes his journey.\\nThe rich vein of melancholy which runs through the English\\ncharacter, and gives it some of its most touching and ennobling\\ngraces, is finely evidenced in these pathetic customs, and in the\\nsolicitude shown by the common people for an honored and a peace-\\nful grave. The humblest peasant, whatever may be his lowly lot\\nwhile living, is anxious that some little respect may be paid to\\nhis remains. Sir Thomas Overbury, describing the faire and\\nhappy milkmaid, observes, thus lives she, and all her care is,\\nthat she may die in the spring-time, to have store of flowers\\nstucke upon her winding sheet. The poets, too, who always\\nbreathe the feeling of a nation, continually advert to this fond\\nsolicitude about the grave. In The Maid s Tragedy, by\\nBeaumont and Fletcher, there is a beautiful instance of the\\nkind, describing the capricious melancholy of a broken-hearted\\ngirl\\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 make her maids\\nPluck em, and strew her over like a corse", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "130 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nThe custom of decorating graves was once universally preva-\\nlent osiers were carefully bent over them to keep the turf\\nuninjured, and about them were planted evergreens and flowers.\\nWe adorn their graves, says Evelyn, in his Sylva, with\\nflowers and redolent plants, just emblems of the life of man,\\nwhich has been compared in Holy Scripture to those fading\\nbeauties whose roots, being buried in dishonor, rise again in\\nglory. This usage has now become extremely rare in England\\nbut it may still be met with in the churchyards of retired\\nvillages, among the Welsh mountains and I recollect an\\ninstance of it at the small town of Kuthven, which lies at the\\nhead of the beautiful vale of Clewyd. I have been told also\\nby a friend, who was present at the funeral of a young girl in\\nGlamorganshire, that the female attendants had their aprons\\nfull of flowers, which, as soon as the body was interred, they\\nstuck about the grave.\\nHe noticed several graves which had been decorated in the\\nsame manner. As the flowers had been merely stuck in the\\nground, and not planted, they had soon withered, and might\\nbe seen in various states of decay, some drooping, others quite\\nperished. They were afterwards to be supplanted by holly,\\nrosemary, and other evergreens, which on some graves had\\ngrown to great luxuriance, and overshadowed the tombstones.\\nThere was formerly a melancholy fancifulness in the arrange-\\nment of these rustic offerings, that had something in it truly\\npoetical. The rose was sometimes blended with the lily, to\\nform a general emblem of frail mortality. This sweet\\nflower, said Evelyn, borne on a branch set with thorns and\\naccompanied with the lily, are natural hieroglyphics of our\\nfugitive, umbratile, anxious, and transitory life, which, making\\nso fair a show for a time, is not yet without its thorns and\\ncrosses. The nature and color of the flowers, and of the\\nribbons with which they were tied, had often a particular\\nreference to the qualities or story of the deceased, or were", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "RURAL FUNERALS 131\\nexpressive of the feelings of the mourner. In an old poem,\\nentitled Corydon s Doleful Knell, a lover specifies the deco-\\nrations 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.\\nI ll deck her tomb with flowers\\nThe rarest ever seen\\nAnd with my tears as showers\\nI ll keep them fresh and green.\\nThe white rose, we are told, was planted at the grave of a\\nvirgin; her chaplet was tied with white ribbons, in token of\\nher spotless innocence, though sometimes black ribbons were\\nintermingled, to bespeak the grief of the survivors. The red\\nrose was occasionally used in remembrance of such as had been\\nremarkable for benevolence but roses in general were appropri-\\nated to the graves of lovers. Evelyn tells us that the custom\\nwas not altogether extinct in his time, near his dwelling in the\\ncounty of Surrey, where the maidens yearly planted and\\ndecked the graves of their defunct sweethearts with rose\\nbushes. And Camden likewise remarks, in his Britannia:\\nHere is also a certain custom, observed time out of mind, of\\nplanting rose trees upon the graves, especially by the young\\nmen and maids who have lost their loves so that this church-\\nyard is now full of them.\\nWhen the deceased had been unhappy in their loves, emblems\\nof a more gloomy character were used, such as the yew and\\ncypress, and if flowers were strewn, they were of the most\\nmelancholy colors. Thus, in poems by Thomas Stanley, Esq.\\n(published in 1651), is the following stanza", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "132 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nYet strew\\nUpon my dismal 1 grave\\nSuch offerings as you have,\\nForsaken cypresse and yewe\\na For kinder flowers can take no birth\\nOr growth from such unhappy earth.\\nIn The Maid s Tragedy a pathetic little air is introduced,\\nillustrative of this mode of decorating the funerals of females\\nwho had been disappointed in love\\nLay a garland on my hearse,\\nOf the dismall yew,\\nMaidens, willow branches wear,\\nSay I died true.\\nMy love was false, but I am firm,\\nFrom my hour of birth\\nUpon my buried body lie\\nLightly, gentle earth.\\nThe natural effect of sorrow over the dead is to refine and\\nelevate the mind and we have a proof of it in the purity of\\nsentiment and the unaffected elegance of thought which per-\\nvaded the whole of these funeral observances. Thus it was\\nan especial precaution that none but sweet-scented evergreens\\nand flowers should be employed. The intention seems to have\\nbeen to soften the horrors of the tomb, to beguile the mind\\nfrom brooding over the disgraces of perishing mortality, and to\\nassociate the memory of the deceased with the most delicate\\nand beautiful objects in nature. There is a dismal process\\ngoing on in the grave, ere dust can return to its kindred dust,\\nwhich the imagination shrinks from contemplating; and we\\nseek still to think of the form we have loved, with those refined\\nassociations which it awakened when blooming before us in\\nyouth and beauty. Lay her i the earth, says Laertes, of hia\\nvirgin sister,\\nAnd from her fair and unpolluted flesh\\nMay violets spring", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "RURAL FUNERALS 133\\nHerrick, also, in his Dirge of Jephtha, pours forth a\\nfragrant flow of poetical thought and image, which in a manner\\nembalms the dead in the recollections of the living\\nSleep in thy peace, thy hed of spice,\\nAnd make this place all Paradise\\nMay sweets grow here and smoke them hence\\nFat frankincense.\\nLet halme and cassia send their sceat\\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 burn\\nUpon thine altar then return\\nAnd leave thee sleeping in thine urn.\\nI might crowd my pages with extracts from the older British\\npoets, who wrote when these rites were more prevalent, and de-\\nlighted frequently to allude to them but I have already quoted\\nmore than is necessary. I cannot, however, refrain from giving\\na passage from Shakespeare, even though it should appear trite,\\nwhich illustrates the emblematical meaning often conveyed in\\nthese floral tributes, and at the same time possesses that magic\\nof language and appositeness of imagery for which he stands\\npre-eminent.\\nWith fairest flowers,\\nWhilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,\\nI ll sweeten thy sad grave thou shalt not lack\\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 in these prompt\\nand spontaneous offerings of Nature than in the most costly\\nmonuments of art the hand strews the flower while the heart\\nis warm, and the tear falls on the grave as affection is binding\\nthe osier round the sod but pathos expires under the slow labor", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "134 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nof the chisel, and is chilled among the cold conceits of sculptured\\nmarble.\\nIt is greatly to be regretted that a custom so truly elegant\\nand touching has disappeared from general use, and exists only\\nin the most remote and insignificant villages. But it seems as\\nif poetical custom always shuns the walks of cultivated society.\\nIn proportion as people grow polite they cease to be poetical.\\nThey talk of poetry, but they have learnt to check its free im-\\npulses, to distrust its sallying emotions, and to supply its most\\naffecting and picturesque usages by studied form and pompous\\nceremonial. Few pageants can be more stately and frigid\\nthan an English funeral in town. It is made up of show and\\ngloomy parade mourning carriages, mourning horses, mourn-\\ning plumes, and hireling mourners, who make a mockery of\\ngrief. There is a grave digged, says Jeremy Taylor, and\\na solemn mourning, and a great talk in the neighborhood, and\\nwhen the daies are finished, they shall be, and they shall be remem-\\nbered no more. The associate in the gay and crowded city\\nis soon forgotten the hurrying succession of new intimates and\\nnew pleasures effaces him from our minds, and the very scenes\\nand circles in which he moved are incessantly fluctuating. But\\nfunerals in the country are solemnly impressive. The stroke\\nof death makes a wider space in the village circle, and is an\\nawful event in the tranquil uniformity of rural life. The pass-\\ning bell tolls its knell in every ear it steals with its pervad-\\ning melancholy over hill and vale, and saddens all the landscape.\\nThe fixed and unchanging features of the country also per-\\npetuate the memory of the friend with whom we once enjoyed\\nthem, who was the companion of our most retired walks, and\\ngave animation to every lonely scene. His idea is associated\\nwith every charm of Nature we hear his voice in the echo\\nwhich he once delighted to awaken his spirit haunts the grove\\nwhich he once frequented we think of him in the wild upland\\nsolitude or amidst the pensive beauty of the valley. In the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "RURAL FUNERALS 135\\nfreshness of joyous morning we remember his beaming smiles\\nand bounding gayety and when sober evening returns with its\\ngathering shadows and subduing quiet, we call to mind many\\na twilight hour of gentle talk and sweet-souled melancholy.\\nEach lonely place shall him restore,\\nIFov him the tear he duly shed\\nBeloved till life can charm no more\\nAnd mourn d till pity s self be dead.\\nAnother cause that perpetuates the memory of the deceased\\nin the country is that the grave is more immediately in sight\\nof the survivors. They pass it on their way to prayer it meets\\ntheir eyes when their hearts are softened by the exercises of\\ndevotion they linger about it on the Sabbath, when the mind\\nis disengaged from worldly cares and most disposed to turn aside\\nfrom present pleasures and present loves and to sit down among\\nthe solemn mementoes of the past. In North Wales the peas-\\nantry kneel and pray over the graves of their deceased friends\\nfor several Sundays after the interment and where the tender\\nrite of strewing and planting flowers is still practised, it is\\nalways renewed on Easter, Whitsuntide, and other festivals,\\nwhen the season brings the companion of former festivity more\\nvividly to mind. It is also invariably performed by the nearest\\nrelatives and friends; no menials nor hirelings are employed,\\nand if a neighbor yields assistance, it would be deemed an in-\\nsult to offer compensation.\\nI have dwelt upon this beautiful rural custom, because as it\\nis one of the last, so is it one of the holiest, offices of love. The\\ngrave is the ordeal of true affection. It is there that the divine\\npassion of the soul manifests its superiority to the instinctive\\nimpulse of mere animal attachment. The latter must be con-\\ntinually refreshed and kept alive by the presence of its object,\\nbut the love that is seated in the soul can live on long remem-\\nbrance. The mere inclinations of sense languish and decline\\nwith the charms which excited them, and turn with shudder-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "136 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ning disgust from the dismal precincts of the tomb hut it is\\nthence that truly spiritual affection rises, purified from every\\nsensual desire, and returns, like a holy flame, to illumine and\\nsanctify the heart of the survivor.\\nThe sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we\\nrefuse to be divorced. Every othe wound we seek to heal,\\nevery other affliction to forget but this wound we consider it\\na duty to keep open, this affliction we cherish and brood over\\nin solitude. Where is the mother who would willingly forget\\nthe infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though\\nevery recollection is a pang? Where is the child that would\\nwillingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember\\nbe but to lament? Who, even in the hour of agony, would\\nforget the friend over whom he mourns Who, even when the\\ntomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved, when he\\nfeels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portal,\\nwould accept of consolation that must be bought by forge tful-\\nness No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the\\nnoblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has like-\\nwise its delights and when the overwhelming burst of grief\\nis calmed into the gentle tear of recollection, when the sudden\\nanguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all\\nthat we most loved is softened away into pensive meditation on\\nall that it was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out\\nsuch a sorrow from the heart Though it may sometimes throw\\na passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a\\ndeeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange\\nit even for the song of pleasure or the burst of revelry No,\\nthere is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a\\nremembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms\\nof the living. Oh, the grave the grave It buries every error,\\ncovers every defect, extinguishes every resentment From its\\npeaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollec-\\ntions. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "BUBAL FUNEBALS 137\\nand not feel a compunctious throb that he should ever have warred\\nwith the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him\\nBut the grave of those we loved what a place for medita-\\ntion There it is that we call up in long review the whole\\nhistory of virtue and gentleness, and a thousand endearments\\nlavished upon us almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of\\nintimacy; there it is that we dwell upon the tenderness, the\\nsolemn, awful tenderness, of the parting scene. The bed of\\ndeath, with all its stifled griefs its noiseless attendance its\\nmute, watchful assiduities. The last testimonies of expiring\\nlove The feeble, fluttering, thrilling oh, how thrilling\\npressure of the hand The faint, faltering accents, struggling\\nin death to give one more assurance of affection The last fond\\nlook of the glazing eye, turning upon us even from the thresh-\\nold of existence\\nAy, go to the grave of buried love and meditate There\\nsettle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit\\nunrequited every past endearment unregarded, of that de-\\nparted being who can never never never return to be\\nsoothed by thy contrition\\nIf thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul\\nor a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent if\\nthou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that\\nventured its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment\\nof thy kindness or thy truth if thou art a friend, and hast ever\\nwronged, in thought or word or deed, the spirit that generously\\nconfided in thee if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one\\nunmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold and still\\nbeneath thy feet, then be sure that every unkind look, every\\nungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging\\nback upon thy memory and knocking dolefully at thy soul then\\nbe sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the\\ngrave, and utter the unheard groan and pour the unavailing\\ntear, more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "138 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nThen weave thy chaplet of flowers and strew the beauties of\\nNature about the grave console thy broken spirit, if thou canst,\\nwith these tender yet futile tributes of regret but take warn-\\ning by the bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over the dead,\\nand henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge\\nof thy duties to the living.\\nIn writing the preceding article it was not intended to give a\\nfull detail of the funeral customs of the English peasantry, but\\nmerely to furnish a few hints and quotations illustrative of\\nparticular rites, to be appended, by way of note, to another\\npaper, which has been withheld. The article swelled in-\\nsensibly into its present form, and this is mentioned as an\\napology for so brief and casual a notice of these usages after\\nthey have been amply and learnedly investigated in other\\nworks.\\nI must observe, also, that I am well aware that this custom\\nof adorning graves with flowers prevails in other countries be-\\nsides England. Indeed, in some it is much more general, and\\nis observed even by the rich and fashionable but it is then\\napt to lose its simplicity and to degenerate into affectation.\\nBright, in his travels in Lower Hungary, tells of monuments of\\nmarble and recesses formed for retirement, with seats placed\\namong bowers of greenhouse plants, and that the graves gener-\\nally are covered with the gayest flowers of the season. He\\ngives a casual picture of filial piety which I cannot but tran-\\nscribe for I trust it is as useful as it is delightful to illustrate\\nthe amiable virtues of the sex. When I was at Berlin, says\\nhe, I followed the celebrated Inland to the grave. Mingled\\nwith some pomp you might trace much real feeling. In the\\nmidst of the ceremony my attention was attracted by a young\\nwoman who stood on a mound of earth newly covered with turf,\\nwhich she anxiously protected from the feet of the passing\\ncrowd. It was the tomb of her parent; and the figure of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "RURAL FUNERALS 139\\nthis affectionate daughter presented a monument more striking\\nthan the most costly work of art.\\nI will barely add an instance of sepulchral decoration which\\nI once met with among the mountains of Switzerland. It was\\nat the village of Gersau, which stands on the borders of the\\nLake of Lucerne, at the foot of Mount Rigi. It was once the\\ncapital of a miniature republic shut up between the Alps and\\nthe lake, and accessible on the land side only by footpaths.\\nThe whole force of the republic did not exceed six hundred\\nfighting men, and a few miles of circumference, scooped out as\\nit were from the bosom of the mountains, comprised its terri-\\ntory. The village of Gersau seemed separated from the rest of\\nthe world, and retained the golden simplicity of a purer age.\\nIt had a small church, and a burying -ground adjoining. At the\\nheads of the graves were placed crosses of wood or iron. On\\nsome were affixed miniatures, rudely executed, but evidently\\nattempts at likenesses of the deceased. On the crosses were\\nhung chaplets of flowers, some withering, others fresh, as if\\noccasionally renewed. I paused with interest at this scene I\\nfelt that I was at the source of poetical description, for these\\nwere the beautiful but unaffected offerings of the heart which\\npoets are fain to record. In a gayer and more populous place\\nI should have suspected them to have been suggested by fac-\\ntitious sentiment derived from books but the good people of\\nGersau knew little of books there was not a novel nor a love-\\npoem in the village, and I question whether any peasant of the\\nplace dreamt, while he was twining a fresh chaplet for the\\ngrave of his mistress, that he was fulfilling one of the most fanci-\\nful rites of poetical devotion, and that he was practically a poet", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "140 THE SKETCH BOOR\\nTHE INN KITCHEN\\nShall I not take mine ease in mine inn\\nFalstaff,\\nDtjking a journey that I once made through the Netherlands\\n1 had arrived one evening at the Pomme d Or, the principal inn\\nof a small Flemish village. It was after the hour of the table\\ndhote y so that I was obliged to make a solitary supper from the\\nrelics of its ampler board. The weather was chilly I was\\nseated alone in one end of a great gloomy dining-room, and, my\\nrepast being over, I had the prospect before me of a long, dull\\nevening, without any visible means of enlivening it. I sum-\\nmoned mine host and requested something to read he brought\\nme the whole literary stock of his household, a Dutch family\\nBible, an almanac in the same language, and a number of old\\nParis newspapers. As I sat dozing over one of the latter, read-\\ning old news and stale criticisms, my ear was now and then\\nstruck with bursts of laughter which seemed to proceed from the\\nkitchen. Every one that has travelled on the Continent must\\nknow how favorite a resort the kitchen of a country inn is to\\nthe middle and inferior order of travellers, particularly in that\\nequivocal kind of weather when a fire becomes agreeable toward\\nevening. I threw aside the newspaper and explored my way to\\nthe kitchen, to take a peep at the group that appeared to be so\\nmerry. It was composed partly of travellers who had arrived\\nsome hours before in a diligence, and partly of the usual attend-\\nants and hangers-on of inns. They were seated round a great\\nburnished stove, that might have been mistaken for an altar at\\nwhich they were worshipping. It was covered with various\\nkitchen vessels of resplendent brightness, among which steamed\\nand hissed a huge copper tea-kettle. A large lamp threw a\\nstrong mass of light upon the group, bringing out many odd", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0176.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "THE INN KITCHEN 141\\nfeatures in strong relief. Its yellow rays partially illumined\\nthe spacious kitchen, dying duskily away into remote corners,\\nexcept where they settled in mellow radiance on the broad side\\nof a flitch of bacon or were reflected back from well-scoured\\nutensils that gleamed from the midst of obscurity. A strapping\\nFlemish lass, with long golden pendants in her ears and a neck-\\nlace with a golden heart suspended to it, was the presiding\\npriestess of the temple.\\nMany of the company were furnished with pipes, and most of\\nthem with some kind of evening potation. I found their mirth\\nwas occasioned by anecdotes which a little swarthy Frenchman,\\nwith a dry weazen face and large whiskers, was giving of his\\nlove-adventures at the end of each of which there was one of\\nthose bursts of honest, unceremonious laughter in which a man\\nindulges in that temple of true liberty, an inn.\\nAs I had no better mode of getting through a tedious, blus-\\ntering evening, I took my seat near the stove, and listened to a\\nvariety of travellers tales, some very extravagant and most very\\ndull. All of them, however, have faded from my treacherous\\nmemory except one, which I will endeavor to relate. I fear,\\nhowever, it derived its chief zest from the manner in which it\\nwas told, and the peculiar air and appearance of the narrator.\\nHe was a corpulent old Swiss, who had the look of a veteran\\ntraveller. He was dressed in a tarnished green travelling-jacket,\\nwith a broad belt round his waist, and a pair of overalls, with\\nbuttons from the hips to the ankles. He was of a full, rubicund\\ncountenance, with a double chin, aquiline nose, and a pleasant,\\ntwinkling eye. His hair was light, and curled from under an\\nold green velvet travelling-cap stuck on one side of his head.\\nHe was interrupted more than once by the arrival of guests, or\\nthe remarks of his auditors and paused now and then to re-\\nplenish his pipe at which times he had generally a roguish leer,\\nand a sly joke, for the buxom kitchen-maid.\\nI wish my readers could imagine the old fellow lolling in a", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0177.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "142 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nhuge arm-chair, one arm akimbo, the other holding a curiously\\ntwisted tobacco-pipe, formed of genuine ecume de mer, decorated\\nwith silver chain and silken tassel, his head cocked on one\\nside, and a whimsical cut of the eye occasionally, as he related\\nthe following story\\nTHE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM\\na traveller s tale\\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.\\nOn the summit of one of the heights of the Odenwald, a wild\\nand romantic tract of Upper Germany that lies not far from the\\nconfluence of the Main and the Rhine, there stood, many, many\\nyears since, the castle of the Baron Von Landshort. It is now\\nquite fallen to decay, and almost buried among beech trees and\\ndark firs above which, however, its old watch-tower may still\\nbe seen struggling, like the former possessor I have mentioned, to\\ncarry a high head and look down upon the neighboring country.\\nThe baron was a dry branch of the great family of Katzenel-\\nlenbogen, and inherited the relics of the property and all the\\npride of his ancestors. Though the warlike disposition of his\\npredecessors had much impaired the family possessions, yet the\\nbaron still endeavored to keep up some show of former state.\\nThe times were peaceable, and the German nobles in general\\nhad abandoned their inconvenient old castles, perched like eagles\\nnests among the mountains, and had built more convenient resi-\\ndences in the valleys still the baron remained proudly drawn\\nup in his little fortress, cherishing with hereditary inveteracy all\\nthe old family feuds, so that he was on ill terms with some of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0178.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 143\\nhis nearest neighbors, on account of disputes that had happened\\nbetween their great-great-grandfathers.\\nThe baron had but one child, a daughter, but Nature, when\\nshe grants but one child, always compensates by making it a\\nprodigy and so it was with the daughter of the baron. All\\nthe nurses, gossips, and country cousins assured her father that\\nshe had not her equal for beauty in all Germany.; and who\\nshould know better than they? She had, moreover, been\\nbrought up with great care under the superintendence of two\\nmaiden aunts, who had spent some years of their early life at\\none of the little German courts, and were skilled in all branches\\nof knowledge necessary to the education of a fine lady. Under\\ntheir instructions she became a miracle of accomplishments. By\\nthe time she was eighteen she could embroider to admiration,\\nand had worked whole histories of the saints in tapestry with\\nsuch strength of expression in their countenances that they\\nlooked like so many souls in purgatory. She could read with-\\nout great difficulty, and had spelled her way through several\\nChurch legends and almost all the chivalric wonders of the\\nHeldenbuch, She had even made considerable proficiency in\\nwriting could sign her own name without missing a letter, and\\nso legibly that her aunts could read it without spectacles. She\\nexcelled in making little, elegant, good-for-nothing, lady-like\\nknickknacks of all kinds, was versed in the most abstruse danc-\\ning of the day, played a number of airs on the harp and guitar,\\nand knew all the tender ballads of the Minnelieders by heart.\\nHer aunts, too, having been great flirts and coquettes in\\ntheir younger days, were admirably calculated to be vigilant-\\nguardians and strict censors of the conduct of their niece for\\nthere is no duenna so rigidly prudent and inexorably decorous\\nas a superannuated coquetle. She was rarely^suffered out of\\ntheir sight never went beyond the domains of the castle unless\\nwell attended, or rather well watched had continual lectures\\nread to her about strict decorum and implicit obedience and,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0179.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "144 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nas to men pah she was taught to hold them at such a\\ndistance and in such absolute distrust that, unless properly\\nauthorized, she would not have cast a glance upon the hand-\\nsomest cavalier in the world no, not if he were even dying at\\nher feet.\\nThe good effects of this system were wonderfully apparent.\\nThe young lady was a pattern of docility and correctness.\\nWhile others were wasting their sweetness in the glare of the\\nworld, and liable to be plucked and thrown aside by every hand,\\nshe was coyly blooming into fresh and lovely womanhood under\\nthe protection of those immaculate spinsters, like a rosebud\\nblushing forth among guardian thorns. Her aunts looked upon\\nher with pride and exultation, and vaunted that, though all the\\nother young ladies in llie world migfit go astray, yet, thank\\nHeaven, nothing of the kind could happen to the heiress of\\nKatzen ellenbogen\\nBut, however scantily the Baron Yon Landshort might be\\nprovided with children, his household was by no means a small\\none for Providence had enriched him with abundance of poor\\nrelations. They, one and all, possessed the affectionate disposi-\\ntion common to humble relatives were wonderfully attached\\nto the baron, and took every possible occasion to come in swarms\\nand enliven the castle. All family festivals were commemorated\\nby thescTgood people at the baron s expense and when they\\nwere filled with good cheer they would declare that there was\\nnothing on earth so delightful as these family meetings, these\\njubilees of the heart.\\nThe baron, though a small man, had a large soul, and it\\nswelled with satisfaction at the consciousness of being the\\ngreatest man in the little world about him. He loved to tell\\nlong stories about the stark old warriors whose portraits looked\\ngrimly down from the wSrls around, and he found no listeners\\nequal to those who fed at his expense. He was much given to\\nthe marvellous and a firm believer in all those supernatural tales", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0180.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 145\\nwith which every mountain and valley in Germany abounds.\\nThe faith of his guests exceeded even his own they listened to\\nevery tale of wonder with open eyes and mouth, and never\\nfailed to be astonished, even though repeated for the hundredth\\ntime. Thus lived the Baron Von Landshort, the oracle of his\\ntable, the absolute monarch of his little territory, and happy,\\nabove all things, in the persuasion that he was the wisest man\\nof the age.\\nAt the time of which my story treats there was a great\\nfamily gathering at the castle on an affair of the utmost impor-\\ntance it was to receive the destined bridegroom of the baron s\\ndaughter. A negotiation had been carried on between the father\\nand an old nobleman of Bavaria to unite the dignity of their\\nhouses by the marriage of their children. The preliminaries had\\nbeen conducted with proper punctilio. The young~people were\\nbetrothed without seeing each other, and the time was\\nappointed for the marriage ceremony. The young Count Von\\nAltenburg had been recalled from the army for the purpose,\\nand was actually on his way to the baron s to receive his bride.\\nMissives had been received from him from Wurtzburg, where\\nhe was accidentally detained, mentioning the day and hour\\nwhen he might be expected to arrive.\\nThe castle was in a tumult of preparation to give him a\\nsuitable welcome. The fair bride had been decked out with\\nuncommon care. The two aunts had superintended her toilet,\\nand quarrelled the whole morning about every article of her\\ndress. The young lady had taken advantage of their contest\\nto follow the bent of her own taste and fortunately it was a\\ngood one. She looked as lovely as youthful bridegroom could\\ndesire, and the flutter of expectation heightened the lustre of\\nher charms.\\nThe suffusions that mantled her face and neck, the gentle\\nheaving of the bosom, the eye now and then lost in revery,\\nall betrayed the soft tumult that was going on in her little", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0181.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "146 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nneart. The aunts were continually hovering around her, foi\\nmaiden aunts are apt to take great interest in affairs of this\\nnature. They were giving her a world of staid counsel how\\nto deport herself, what to say, and in what manner to receive\\nthe expected lover.\\nThe baron was no less busied in preparations. He had, in\\ntruth, nothing exactly to do but he was naturally a fuming,\\nbustling little man, and could not remain passive when all the\\nworld was in a hurry. He worried from top to bottom of\\nthe castle with an air of infinite anxiety he continually called\\nthe servants from their work to exhort them to be diligent\\nand buzzed about every hall and chamber, as idly restless and\\nimportunate as a blue-bottle fly on a warm summer s day.\\nIn the meantime the fatted calf had been killed the forests\\nhad rung with the clamor of the huntsmen the kitchen was\\ncrowded with good cheer; the cellars had yielded up whole\\noceans of Rhein-wein and Ferne-wein and even the great\\nHeidelburg tun had been laid under contribution. Everything\\nwas ready to receive the distinguished guest with Saus und\\nBraus in the true spirit of German hospitality but the guest\\ndelayed to make his appearance. Hour rolled after hour. The\\nsun, that had poured his downward rays upon the rich forest\\nof the Odenwald, now just gleamed along the summits of the\\nmountains. The baron mounted the highest tower and strained\\nhis eyes in hopes of catching a distant sight of the count and\\nhis attendants. Once he thought he beheld them the sound\\nof horns came floating from the valley, prolonged by the moun-\\ntain echoes. A number of horsemen were seen far below slowly\\nadvancing along the road but when they had nearly reached\\nthe foot of the mountain they suddenly struck off in a different\\ndirection. The last ray of sunshine departed, the bats began to\\nflit by in the twilight, the road grew dimmer and dimmer to the\\nview, and nothing appeared stirring in it but now and then a\\npeasant lagging homeward from his labor.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0182.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 147\\nWhile the old castle of Landshort was in this state of per-\\nplexity, a very interesting scene was transacting in a different\\npart of the Odenwald.\\nThe young Count Yon Altenburg was tranquilly pursuing his\\nroute in that sober jog-trot way in which a man travels toward\\nmatrimony when his friends have taken all the trouble and\\nuncertainty of courtship off his hands and a bride is waiting for\\nhim as certainly as a dinner at the end of his journey. He had\\nencountered at Wurtzburg a youthful companion-in-arms with\\nwhom he had seen some service on the frontiers Herman Von\\nStarkenfaust, one of the stoutest hands and worthiest hearts of\\nGerman chivalry who was now returning from the army.\\nHis father s castle was not far distant from the old fortress of\\nLandshort, although an hereditary feud rendered the families\\nhostile and strangers to each other.\\nIn the warm-hearted moment of recognition the young\\nfriends related all their past adventures and fortunes, and the\\ncount gave the whole history of his intended nuptials with a\\nyoung lady whom he had never seen, but of whose charms he\\nhad received the most enrapturing descriptions.\\nAs the route of the friends lay in the same direction, they\\nagreed to perform the rest of their journey together, and that\\nthey might do it the more leisurely, set off from Wurtzburg at\\nan early hour, the count having given directions for his retinue\\nto follow and overtake him.\\nThey beguiled their wayfaring with recollections of their mili-\\ntary scenes and adventures but the count was apt to be a little\\ntedious now and then about the reputed charms of his bride\\nand the felicity that awaited him.\\nIn this way they had entered among the mountains of the\\nOdenwald, and were traversing one of its most lonely and\\nthickly wooded passes. It is well known that the forests of\\nGermany have always been as much infested by robbers as its\\ncastles by spectres and at this time the former were particularly", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0183.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "148 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nnumerous, from the hoards of disbanded soldiers wandering\\nabout the country. It will not appear extraordinary, therefore,\\nthat the cavaliers were attacked by a gang of these stragglers,\\nIn the midst of the forest. They defended themselves with\\nbravery, but were nearly overpowered, when the count s retinue\\narrived to their assistance. At sight of them the robbers fled,\\nbut not until the count had received a mortal wound. He was\\nslowly and carefully conveyed back to the city of Wurtzburg,\\nand a friar summoned from a neighboring convent who was\\nfamous for his skill in administering to both soul and body;\\nbut half of his skill was superfluous the moments of the\\nunfortunate count were numbered.\\nWith his dying breath he entreated his friend to repair\\ninstantly to the castle of Landshort and explain the fatal cause\\nof his not keeping his appointment with his bride. Though not\\nthe most ardent of lovers, he was one of the most punctilious\\nof men, and appeared earnestly solicitous that his mission\\nshould be speedily and courteously executed. Unless this is\\ndone, said he, I shall not sleep quietly in my grave. He\\nrepeated these last words with peculiar solemnity. A request at\\na moment so impressive admitted no hesitation. Starkenfaust\\nendeavored to soothe him to calmness, promised faithfully to\\nexecute his wish, and gave him his hand in solemn pledge.\\nThe dying man pressed it in acknowledgment, but soon lapsed\\ninto delirium, raved about his bride, his engagements, his\\nplighted word, ordered his horse, that he might ride to the\\ncastle of Landshort, and expired in the fancied act of vaulting\\ninto the saddle.\\nStarkenfaust bestowed a sigh and a soldier s tear on the\\nuntimely fate of his comrade, and then pondered on the awkward\\nmission he had undertaken. His heart was heavy and his head\\nperplexed for he was to present himself an unbidden guest\\namong hostile people, and to damp their festivity with tidings\\nfatal to their hopes. Still, there were certain whisperings of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0184.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 149\\ncuriosity in his bosom to see this far-famed beauty of Katzenel-\\nlenbogen, so cautiously shut up from the world for he was a\\npassionate admirer of the sex, and there was a clash of eccen-\\ntricity and enterprise in his character that made him fond of all\\nsingular adventure.\\nPrevious to his departure he made all due arrangements with\\nthe holy fraternity of the convent for the funeral solemnities of\\nhis friend, who was to be buried in the cathedral of Wurtzburg\\nnear some of his illustrious relatives and the mourning retinue\\nof the count took charge of his remains.\\nIt is now high time that we should return to the ancient\\nfamily of Katzenellenbogen, who were impatient for their guest,\\nand still more for their dinner, and to the worthy little baron,\\nwhom we left airing himself on the watch-tower,\\nNight closed in, but still no guest arrived The baron de-\\nscended from the tower in despair. The banquet, which had\\nbeen delayed from hour to hour, could no longer be postponed.\\nThe meats were already overdone, the cook in an agony, and\\nthe whole household had the look of a garrison that had been\\nreduced by famine. The baron was obliged reluctantly to give\\norders for the feast without the presence of the guest. All were\\nseated at table, and just on the point of commencing, when the\\nsound of a horn from without the gate gave notice of the ap-\\nproach of a stranger. Another long blast filled the old courts\\nof the castle with its echoes, and was answered by the warder\\nfrom the walls. The baron hastened to receive his future son-\\nin-law.\\nThe drawbridge had been let down, and the stranger was be-\\nfore the gate. He was a tall gallant cavalier, mounted on a\\nblack steed. His countenance was pale, but he had a beaming,\\nromantic eye and an air of stately melancholy. The baron was\\na little mortified that he should have come in this simple, soli-\\ntary style. His dignity for a moment was ruffled, and he felt\\ndisposed to consider it a want of proper respect for the impor", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0185.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "150 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ntant occasion and the important family with which he was to be\\nconnected. He pacified himself, however, with the conclusion\\nthat it must have been youthful impatience which had induced\\nhim thus to spur on sooner than his attendants.\\nlam sorry, said the stranger, to break in upon you thus\\nunseasonably\\nHere the baron interrupted him with a world of compliments\\nand greetings, for, to tell the truth, he prided himself upon his\\ncourtesy and eloquence. The stranger attempted once or twice\\nto stem the torrent of words, but in vain, so he bowed his head\\nand suffered it to flow on. By the time the baron had come to\\na pause they had reached the inner court of the castle, and the\\nstranger was again about to speak, when he was once more in-\\nterrupted by the appearance of the female part of the family,\\nleading forth the shrinking and blushing bride. He gazed on\\nher for a moment as one entranced it seemed as if his whole\\nsoul beamed forth in the gaze and rested upon that lovely form.\\nOne of the maiden aunts whispered something in her ear she\\nmade an effort to speak her moist blue eye was timidly raised,\\ngave a shy glance of inquiry on the stranger, and was cast again\\nto the ground. The words died away, but there was a sweet\\nsmile playing about her lips, and a soft dimpling of the cheek\\nthat showed her glance had not been unsatisfactory. It was\\nimpossible for a girl of the fond age of eighteen, highly predis-\\nposed for love and matrimony, not to be pleased with so gallant\\na cavalier.\\nThe late hour at which the guest had arrived left no time\\nfor parley. The baron was peremptory, and deferred all par-\\nticular conversation until the morning, and led the way to the\\nuntasted banquet.\\nIt was served up in the great hall of the castle. Around the\\nwalls hung the hard-favored portraits of the heroes of the\\nhouse of Katzenellenbogen, and the trophies which they had\\ngained in the field and in the chase. Hacked corselets,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0186.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 151\\nsplintered jousting-spears, and tattered banners were mingled\\nwith the spoils of sylvan warfare the jaws of the wolf and\\nthe tusks of the boar grinned horribly among crossbows and\\nbattle-axes, and a huge pair of antlers branched immediately\\nover the head of the youthful bridegroom.\\nThe cavalier took but little notice of the company or the\\nentertainment. He scarcely tasted the banquet, but seemed\\nabsorbed in admiration of his bride. He conversed in a low\\ntone that could not be overheard for the language of love is\\nnever loud but where is the female ear so dull that it cannot\\ncatch the softest whisper of the lover There was a mingled\\ntenderness and gravity in his manner that appeared to have\\na powerful effect upon the young lady. Her color came and\\nwent as she listened with deep attention. Now and then she\\nmade some blushing reply, and when his eye was turned away\\nshe would steal a sidelong glance at his romantic countenance^\\nand heave a gentle sigh of tender happiness. It was evident\\nthat the young couple were completely enamored. The aunts,,\\nwho were deeply versed in the mysteries of the heart, declared\\nthat they had fallen in love with each other at first sight.\\nThe feast went on merrily, or at least noisily, for the guests\\nwere all blessed with those keen appetites that attend upon\\nlight purses and mountain-air. The baron told his best and\\nlongest stories, and never had he told them so well or with\\nsuch great effect. If there was anything marvellous, his\\nauditors were lost in astonishment and if anything facetious,\\nthey were sure to laugh exactly in the right place. The baron,\\nit is true, like most great men, was too dignified to utter any\\njoke but a dull one it was always enforced, however, by a\\nbumper of excellent Hockheimer, and even a dull joke at one s\\nown table, served up with jolly old wine is irresistible. Many\\ngood things were said by poorer and keener wits that would\\nnot bear repeating, except on similar occasions; many sly\\nspeeches whispered in ladies ears that almost convulsed them", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0187.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "152 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwith suppressed laughter and a song or two roared out by a\\npoor but merry and broad-faced cousin of the baron that\\nabsolutely made the maiden aunts hold up their fans.\\nAmidst all this revelry the stranger guest maintained a most-\\nsingular and unseasonable gravity. His countenance assumed\\na deeper cast of dejection as the evening advanced, and, strange\\nas it may appear, even the baron s jokes seemed only to render\\nhim the more melancholy. At times he was lost in thought,\\nand at times there was a perturbed and restless wandering of\\nthe eye that bespoke a mind but ill at ease. His conversations\\nwith the bride became more aud more earnest and mysterious.\\nLowering clouds began to steal over the fair serenity of her\\nbrow, and tremors to run through her tender frame.\\nAll this could not escape the notice of the company. Their\\ngayety was chilled by the unaccountable gloom of the bride-\\ngroom their spirits were infected whispers and glances were\\ninterchanged, accompanied by shrugs and dubious shakes of\\nthe. head. The song and the laugh grew less and less frequent\\nthere were dreary pauses in the conversation, which were at\\nlength succeeded by wild tales and supernatural legends. One\\ndismal story produced another still more dismal, and the baron\\nnearly frightened some of the ladies into hysterics with the\\nhistory of the goblin horseman that carried away the fair\\nLeonora a dreadful story which has since been put into\\nexcellent verse, and is read and believed by all the world.\\nThe bridegroom listened to this tale with profound attention.\\nHe kept his eyes steadily fixed on the baron, and, as the story\\ndrew to a close, began gradually to rise from his seat, growing\\ntaller and taller, until in the baron s entranced eye he seemed\\nalmost to tower into a giant. The moment the tale was\\nfinished he heaved a deep sigh and took a solemn farewell of\\nthe company. They were all amazement. The baron was\\nperfectly thunderstruck.\\nWhat! going to leave the castle at midnight? Why,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0188.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 153\\neverything was prepared for his reception; a chamber was\\nready for him if he wished to retire.\\nThe stranger shook his head mournfully and mysteriously\\nI must ]ay my head in a different chamber to-night.\\nThere was something in this reply and the tone in which it\\nwas uttered that made the baron s heart misgive him but he\\nrallied his forces and repeated his hospitable entreaties.\\nThe stranger shook his head silently, but positively, at every\\noffer, and, waving his farewell to the company, stalked slowly\\nout of the hall. The maiden aunts were absolutely petrified\\nthe bride hung her head and a tear stole to her eye.\\nThe baron followed the stranger to the great court of\\nthe castle, where the black charger stood pawing the earth\\nand snorting with impatience. When they had reached the\\nportal, whose deep archway was dimly lighted by a cres-\\nset, the stranger paused, and addressed the baron in a\\nhollow tone of voice, which the vaulted roof rendered still\\nmore sepulchral.\\nNow that we are alone, said he, I will impart to you\\nthe reason of my going. I have a solemn, an indispensable\\nengagement\\nWhy, said the baron, cannot you send some one in your\\nplace\\nIt admits of no substitute I must attend it in person\\nI must away to Wurtzburg cathedral\\nAy, said the baron, plucking up spirit, but not until\\nto-morrow to-morrow you shall take your bride there.\\nNo no replied the stranger, with tenfold solemnity,\\nmy engagement is with no bride the worms the worms\\nexpect me I am a dead man I have been slain by robbers\\nmy body lies at Wurtzburg at midnight I am to be\\nburied the grave is waiting for me I must keep my\\nappointment\\nHe sprang on his black charger, dashed over the drawbridge", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0189.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "154 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nand the clattering of his horse s hoofs was lost in the whistling\\nof the night blast.\\nThe baron returned to the hall in the utmost consternation,\\nand related what had passed. Two ladies fainted outright,\\nothers sickened at the idea of having banqueted with a\\nspectre. It was the opinion of some that this might be the\\nwild huntsman, famous in German legend. Some talked of\\nmountain-sprites, of wood-demons, and of other supernatural\\nbeings with which the good people of Germany have been so\\ngrievously harassed since time immemorial. One of the poor\\nrelations ventured to suggest that it might be some sportive\\nevasion of the young cavalier, and that the very gloominess of\\nthe caprice seemed to accord with so melancholy a personage.\\nThis, however, drew on him the indignation of the whole\\ncompany, and especially of the baron, w T ho looked upon him as\\nlittle better than an infidel so that he was fain to abjure his\\nheresy as speedily as possible and come into the faith of the\\ntrue believers.\\nBut, whatever may have been the doubts entertained, they\\nwere completely put to an end by the arrival next day of regu-\\nlar missives confirming the intelligence of the young count s\\nmurder and his interment in Wurtzburg cathedral.\\nThe dismay at the castle may well be imagined. The baron\\nshut himself up in his chamber. The guests, w 7 ho had come\\nto rejoice with him, could not think of abandoning him in his\\ndistress. They wandered about the courts or collected in\\ngroups in the hall, shaking their heads and shrugging their\\nshoulders at the troubles of so good a man, and sat longer than\\never at table, and ate and drank more stoutly than ever, by\\nway of keeping up their spirits. But the situation of the\\nwidowed bride was the most pitiable. To have lost a husband\\nbefore she had even embraced him and such a husband If\\nthe very spectre could be so gracious and noble, what must have\\nbeen the living man She filled the house with lamentations,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0190.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "THE SPECTRE BRI1 GR00M 155\\nOn the night of the second day of her widowhood she had\\nretired to her chamber, accompanied by one of her aunts, who\\ninsisted on sleeping with her. The aunt, who was one of the\\nbest tellers of ghost-stories in all Germany, had just been re-\\ncounting one of her longest, and had fallen asleep in the very\\nmidst of it. The chamber was remote and overlooked a small\\ngarden. The niece lay pensively gazing at the beams of the\\nrising moon as they trembled on the leaves of an aspen tree\\nbefore the lattice. The castle clock had just tolled midnight\\nwhen a soft strain of music stole up from the garden. She\\nrose hastily from her bed and stepped lightly to the window.\\nA tall figure stood among the shadows of the trees. As it\\nraised its head, a beam of moonlight fell upon the countenance.\\nHeaven and earth she beheld the Spectre Bridegroom S A\\nloud shriek at that moment burst upon her ear, and her aunt,\\nwho had been awakened by the music and had followed her\\nsilently to the window, fell into her arms. When she looked\\nagain the spectre had disappeared.\\nOf the two females, the aunt now required the most sooth-\\ning, for she was perfectly beside herself with terror. As to the\\nyoung lady, there was something even in the spectre of her\\nlover that seemed endearing. There was still the semblance of\\nmanly beauty, and, though the shadow of a man is but little\\ncalculated to satisfy the affections of a lovesick girl, yet where\\nthe substance is not to be had even that is consoling. The\\naunt declared she would never sleep in that chamber again\\nthe niece, for once, was refractory, and declared as strongly\\nthat she would sleep in no other in the castle the consequence\\nwas, that she had to sleep in it alone but she drew a promise\\nfrom her aunt not to relate the story of the spectre, lest she\\nshould be denied the only melancholy pleasure left her on earth\\nthat of inhabiting the chamber over which the guardian\\nshade of her lover kept its nightly vigils.\\nHow long the good old lady would have observed this prom", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0191.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "156 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nise is uncertain, for she dearly loved to talk of the marvellous,\\nand there is a triumph in being the first to tell a frightful\\nstory it is, however, still quoted in the neighborhood as a\\nmemorable instance of female secrecy that she kept it to her-\\nself for a whole week, when she was suddenly absolved from\\nall further restraint by intelligence brought to the breakfast-\\ntable one morning that the young lady was not to be found.\\nHer room was empty the bed had not been slept in the\\nwindow was open and the bird had flown\\nThe astonishment and concern with which the intelligence\\nwas received can only be imagined by those who have witnessed\\nthe agitation which the mishaps of a great man cause among\\nhis friends. Even the poor relations paused for a moment\\nfrom the indefatigable labors of the trencher, when the aunt,\\nwho had at first been struck speechless, wrung her hands and\\nshrieked out, The goblin the goblin she s carried away\\nby the goblin\\nIn a few words she related the fearful scene of the garden,\\nand concluded that the spectre must have carried off his bride.\\nTwo of the domestics corroborated the opinion, for they had\\nheard the clattering of a horse s hoofs down the mountain\\nabout midnight, and had no doubt that it was the spectre on\\nhis black charger bearing her away to the tomb. All present\\nwere struck with the direful probability, for events of the kind\\nare extremely common in Germany, as many well-authenticated\\nhistories bear witness.\\nWhat a lamentable situation was that of the poor baron\\nWhat a heartrending dilemma for a fond father and a mem-\\nber of the great family of Katzenellenbogen His only daughter\\nhad either been rapt away to the grave, or he was to have some\\nwood-demon for a son-in-law, and perchance a troop of goblin\\ngrandchildren. As usual, he was completely bewildered, and\\nall the castle in an uproar. The men were ordered to take\\nhorse and scour every road and path and glen of the Odenwald", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0192.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM 157\\nThe baron himself had just drawn on his jack-boots, girded on\\nhis sword, and was about to mount his steed to sally forth on\\nthe doubtful quest, when he was brought to a pause by a new\\napparition. A lady was seen approaching the castle mounted\\non a palfrey, attended by a cavalier on horseback. She gal-\\nloped up to the gate, sprang from her horse, and, falling at the\\nbaron s feet, embraced his knees. It was his lost daughter,\\nand her companion the Spectre Bridegroom The baron\\nwas astounded. He looked at his daughter, then at the spectre,\\nand almost doubted the evidence of his senses. The latter, too,\\nwas wonderfully improved in his appearance since his visit to\\nthe world of spirits. His dress was splendid, and set off a\\nnoble figure of manly symmetry. He was no longer pale and\\nmelancholy. His fine countenance was flushed with the glow\\nof youth, and joy rioted in his large dark eye.\\nThe mystery was soon cleared up. The cavalier (for, in\\ntruth, as you must have known all the while, he was no goblin)\\nannounced himself as Sir Herman Yon Starkenfaust. He re-\\nlated his adventure with the young count. He told how he\\nhad hastened to the castle to deliver the unwelcome tidings, but\\nthat the eloquence of the baron had interrupted him in every\\nattempt to tell his tale. How the sight of the bride had com-\\npletely captivated him, and that to pass a few hours near her\\nhe had tacitly suffered the mistake to continue. How he had\\nbeen sorely perplexed in what way to make a decent retreat,\\nuntil the baron s goblin stories had suggested his eccentric exit.\\nHow, fearing the feudal hostility of the family, he had repeated\\nhis visits by stealth had haunted the garden beneath the\\nyoung lady s window had wooed had won had borne\\naway in triumph and, in a word, had wedded the fair.\\nUnder any other circumstances the baron would have been\\ninflexible, for he was tenacious of paternal authority and\\ndevoutly obstinate in all family feuds but he loved his\\ndaughter he had lamented her as lost he rejoiced to find her", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0193.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "158 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nstill alive and though her husband was of a hostile house, yet,\\nthank Heaven he was not a goblin. There was something, it\\nmust be acknowledged, that did not exactly accord with his\\nnotions of strict veracity in the joke the knight had passed upon\\nhim of his being a dead man but several old friends present,\\nwho had served in the wars, assured him that every stratagem\\nwas ex5usable in love, and that the cavalier was entitled to\\nespecial privilege, having lately served as a trooper.\\nMatters, therefore, were happily arranged. The baron par-\\ndoned the young couple on the spot. The revels at the castle\\nwere resumed. The poor relations overwhelmed this new mem-\\nber of the family with loving-kindness he was so gallant, so\\ngenerous and so rich. The aunts, it is true, were somewhat\\nscandalized that their system of strict seclusion and passive\\nobedience should be so badly exemplified, but attributed it all\\nto their negligence in not having the windows grated. One of\\nthem was particularly mortified at having her marvellous story\\nmarred, and that the only spectre she had ever seen should\\nturn out a counterfeit but the niece seemed perfectly happy at\\nhaving found him substantial flesh and blood. And so the\\nstory ends.\\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 ref ormde 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 appetites.\\nLife is a frost of cold felicitie,\\nAnd death the thaw of all our vanitie.\\nChristolero s Epigrams, by T. B., 1598.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0194.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "WESTMINSTER ABBEY 159\\nOn one of those sober and rather melancholy days in the\\nlatter part of autumn when the shadows of morning and even-\\ning almost mingle together, and throw a gloom over the decline\\nof the year, I passed several hours in rambling about Westmin-\\nster Abbey. There was something congenial to the season in\\nthe mournful magnificence of the old pile, and as I passed its\\nthreshold it seemed like stepping back into the regions of\\nantiquity and losing myself among the shades of former ages.\\nI entered from the inner court of Westminster School, through\\na long, low, vaulted passage that had an almost subterranean\\nlook, being dimly lighted in one part by circular perforations in\\nthe massive walls. Through this dark avenue I had a distant\\nview of the cloisters, with the figure of an old verger in his\\nblack gown moving along their shadowy vaults, and seeming\\nlike a spectre from one of the neighboring tombs. The approach\\nto the abbey through these gloomy monastic remains prepares\\nthe mind for its solemn contemplation. The cloisters still retain\\nsomething of the quiet and seclusion of former days. The gray\\nwalls are discolored by damps and crumbling with age a coat\\nof hoary moss has gathered over the inscriptions of the mural\\nmonuments, and obscured the death s heads and other funeral\\nemblems. The sharp touches of the chisel are gone from the\\nrich tracery of the arches the roses which adorned the key-\\nstones have lost their leafy beauty everything bears marks of\\nthe gradual dilapidations of time, which yet has something\\ntouching and pleasing in its very decay.\\nThe sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray into the\\nsquare of the cloisters, beaming upon a scanty plot of grass in\\nthe centre, and lighting up an angle t of the vaulted passage with\\na kind of dusky splendor. From between the arcades the eye\\nglanced up to a bit of blue sky or a passing cloud, and beheld\\nthe sun-gilt pinnacles of the abbey towering into the azure\\nheaven.\\nAs J paced the cloisters, sometimes contemplating this", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0195.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "160 THE SKETCH BOOR\\nmingled picture of glory and decay, and sometimes endeavoring ta\\ndecipher the inscriptions on the tombstones which formed the\\npavement beneath my feet, my eye was attracted to three figures\\nrudely carved in relief, but nearly worn away by the footsteps of\\nmany generations. They were the effigies of three of the early\\nabbots the epitaphs were entirely effaced the names alone\\nremained, having no doubt been renewed in later times (Vitalis.\\nAbbas. 1082, and Gisiebertus Crispinus. Abbas. 1114, and\\nLaurentius. Abbas. 1176). I remained some little while, mus-\\ning over these casual relics of antiquity thus left like wrecks\\nupon this distant shore of time, telling no tale but that such\\nbeings had been and had perished, teaching no moral but the\\nfutility of that pride which hopes still to exact homage in its\\nashes and to live in an inscription. A little longer, and even\\nthese fxint records will be obliterated and the monument will\\ncease to be a memorial. Whilst I was yet looking down upon\\nthese gravestones I was roused by the sound of the abbey clock,\\nreverberating from buttress to buttress and echoing among the\\ncloisters. It is almost startling to hear this warning of departed\\ntime sounding among the tombs and telling the lapse of the\\nhour, which, like a billow, has rolled us onward towards the grave.\\nI pursued my walk to an arched door opening to the interior of\\nthe abbey. On entering here the magnitude of the building\\nbreaks fully upon the mind, contrasted with the vaults of the\\ncloisters. The eyes gaze with wonder at clustered columns of\\ngigantic dimensions, with arches springing from them to such an\\namazing height, and man wandering about their bases, shrunk\\ninto insignificance in comparison with his own handiwork.\\nThe spaciousness and gloor^ of this vast edifice produce a pro-\\nfound and mysterious awe. We step cautiously and softly about,\\nas if fearful of disturbing the hallowed silence of the tomb,\\nwhile every footfall whispers along the walls and chatters\\namong the sepulchres, making us more sensible of the quiet w^e\\nhave interrupted.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0196.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "WESTMINSTER ABBEY 161\\nIt seems as if the awful nature of the place presses down\\nupon the soul and hushes the beholder into noiseless reverence.\\nWe feel that we are surrounded by the congregated bones of\\nthe great men of past times, who have filled history with their\\ndeeds and the earth with their renown.\\nAnd yet it almost provokes a smile at the vanity of human\\nambition to see how they are crowded together and jostled in\\nthe dust what parsimony is observed in doling out a scanty\\nnook, a gloomy corner, a little portion of earth, to those whom,\\nwhen alive, kingdoms could not satisfy, and how many shapes\\nand forms and artifices are devised to catch the casual notice of\\nthe passenger, and save from forgetfulness for a few short years\\na name which once aspired to occupy ages of the world s thought\\nand admiration.\\nI passed some time in Poet s Corner, which occupies an end\\nof one of the transepts or cross aisles of the abbey. The monu-\\nments are generally simple, for the lives of literary men afford\\nno striking themes for the sculptor. Shakespeare and Addison\\nhave statues erected to their memories, but the greater part\\nhave busts, medallions, and sometimes mere inscriptions. Not-\\nwithstanding the simplicity of these memorials, I have always\\nobserved that the visitors to the abbey remained longest about\\nthem. A kinder and fonder feeling takes place of that cold\\ncuriosity or vague admiration with which they gaze on the splen-\\ndid monuments of the great and the heroic. They linger about\\nthese as about the tombs of friends and companions, for indeed\\nthere is something of companionship between the author and\\nthe reader. Other men are known to posterity only through\\nthe medium of history, which is continually growing faint and\\nobscure but the intercourse between the author and his fellow-\\nmen is ever new, active, and immediate. He has lived for\\nthem more than for himself; he has sacrificed surrounding en-\\njoyments, and shut himself up from the delights of social life,\\nthat he might the more intimately commune with distant", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0197.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "162 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nminds and distant ages. Well may the world cherish his re-\\nnown, for it has been purchased not by deeds of violence and\\nblood, but by the diligent dispensation of pleasure. Well may\\nposterity be grateful to his memory, for he has left it an inherit-\\nance not of empty names and sounding actions, but whole treas-\\nures of wisdom, bright gems of thought, and golden veins of\\nlanguage.\\nFrom Poet s Corner I continued my stroll towards that part\\nof the abbey which contains the sepulchres of the kings. I\\nwandered among what once were chapels, but which are now\\noccupied by the tombs and monuments of the great. At every\\nturn I met with some illustrious name or the cognizance of\\nsome powerful house renowned in history. As the eye darts\\ninto these dusky chambers of death it catches glimpses of quaint-\\neffigies some kneeling in niches, as if in devotion others\\nstretched upon the tombs, with hands piously pressed together\\nwarriors in armor, as if reposing after battle; prelates, with\\ncrosiers and mitres; and nobles in robes and coronets, lying\\nas it were in state. In glancing over this scene, so strangely\\npopulous, yet where every form is so still and silent, it seems\\nalmost as if we were treading a mansion of that fabled city\\nwhere every being had been suddenly transmuted into stone.\\nI paused to contemplate a tomb on which lay the effigy of\\na knight in complete armor. A large buckler was on one arm\\nthe hands were pressed together in supplication upon the breast\\nthe face was almost covered by the morion the legs were crossed,\\nin token of the warrior s having been engaged in the holy war.\\nIt was the tomb of a crusader, of one of those military enthusi-\\nasts who so strangely mingled religion and romance, and whose\\nexploits form the connecting link between fact and fiction, be*\\ntween the history and the fairy-tale. There is something ex-\\ntremely picturesque in the tombs of these adventurers, decorated\\nas they are with rude armorial bearing and Gothic sculpture.\\nThey comport with the antiquated chapels in which they are", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0198.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "WESTMINSTER ABBEY 163\\ngenerally found and in considering them the imagination is\\napt to kindle with the legendary associations, the romantic\\nfiction, the chivalrous pomp and pageantry which poetry has\\nspread over the wars for the sepulchre of Christ. They are\\nthe relics of times utterly gone by, of beings passed from recol-\\nlection, of customs and manners with w^hich ours have no affin-\\nity. They are like objects from some strange and distant land\\nof which we have no certain knowledge, and about which all\\nour conceptions are vague and visionary. There is something\\nextremely solemn and awful in those effigies on Gothic tombs,\\nextended as if in the sleep of death or in the supplication of\\nthe dying hour. They have an effect infinitely more impres-\\nsive on my feelings than the fanciful attitudes, the over-wrought\\nconceits, the allegorical groups which abound on modern monu-\\nments. I have been struck, also, with the superiority of many\\nof the old sepulchral inscriptions. There was a noble way in\\nformer times of saying things simply, and yet saying them\\nproudly and I do not know an epitaph that breathes a loftier\\nconsciousness of family worth and honorable lineage than one\\nwhich affirms of a noble house that all the brothers were brave\\nand all the sisters virtuous.\\nIn the opposite transept to Poet s Corner stands a monument\\nwhich is among the most renowned achievements of modern art,\\nbut which to me appears horrible rather than sublime. It is\\nthe tomb of Mrs, Nightingale, by Roubiliac. The bottom of\\nthe monument is represented as throwing open its marble doors,\\nand a sheeted skeleton is starting forth. The shroud is falling\\nfrom his fleshless frame as he launches his dart at his victim.\\nShe is sinking into her affrighted husband s arms, who strives\\nwith vain and frantic effort to avert the blow. The whole is\\nexecuted with terrible truth and spirit we almost fancy we\\nhear the gibbering yell of triumph bursting from the distended\\njaws of the spectre. But why should we thus seek to clothe\\ndeath with unnecessary terrors, and to spread horrors round the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0199.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "164 THE SKETCH BOOR\\ntomb of those we love? The grave should be surrounded bv\\neverything that might inspire tenderness and veneration for the\\ndead, or that might win the living to virtue. It is the place\\nnot of disgust and dismay, but of sorrow and meditation.\\nWhile wandering about these gloomy vaults and silent aisles,\\nstudying the records of the dead, the sound of busy existence\\nfrom without occasionally reaches the ear the rumbling of\\nthe passing equipage, the murmur of the multitude, or perhaps\\nthe light laugh of pleasure. The contrast is striking with the\\ndeathlike repose around and it has a strange effect upon the\\nfeelings thus to hear the surges of active life hurrying along and\\nbeating against the very walls of the sepulchre.\\nI continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb and from\\nchapel to chapel. The day was gradually wearing away the\\ndistant tread of loiterers about the abbey grew less and less\\nfrequent; the sweet-tongued bell was summoning to evening\\nprayers and I saw at a distance the choristers in their white\\nsurplices crossing the aisle and entering the choir. I stood\\nbefore the entrance to Henry the Seventh s chapel. A flight of\\nsteps leads up to it through a deep and gloomy but magnificent\\narch. Great gates of brass, richly and delicately wrought,\\nturn heavily upon their hinges, as if proudly reluctant to admit\\nthe feet of common mortals into this most gorgeous of sepul-\\nchres.\\nOn entering the eye is astonished by the pomp of architecture\\nand the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. The very walls\\nare wrought into universal ornament encrusted with tracery,\\nand scooped into niches crowded with the statues of saints and\\nmartyrs. Stone seems, by the cunning labor of the chisel, to\\nhave been robbed of its weight and density, suspended aloft as\\nif by magic, and the fretted roof achieved with the wonderful\\nminuteness and airy security of a cobweb.\\nAlong the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the\\nKnights of the Bath, richly carved of oak, though with the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0200.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "WESTMINSTER ABBEY 165\\ngrotesque decorations of Gothic architecture. On the pinnacles\\nof the stalls are affixed the helmets and crests of the knights,\\nwith their scarfs and swords, and above them are suspended\\ntheir banners, emblazoned with armorial bearings, and contrast-\\ning the splendor of gold and purple and crimson with the cold\\ngray fretwork of the roof. In the midst of this grand mauso-\\nleum stands the sepulchre of its founder his effigy, with that\\nof his queen, extended on a sumptuous tomb and the whole\\nsurrounded by a superbly-wrought brazen railing.\\nThere is a sad dreariness in this magnificence, this strange\\nmixture of tombs and trophies, these emblems of living and\\naspiring ambition, close beside mementos which show the\\ndust and oblivion in which all must sooner or later terminate.\\nNothing impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneliness\\nthan to tread the silent and deserted scene of former throng\\nand pageant. On looking round on the vacant stalls of the\\nknights and their esquires, and on the rows of dusty but gor-\\ngeous banners that were once borne before them, my imagina-\\ntion conjured up the scene when this hall was bright with the\\nvalor and beauty of the land, glittering with the splendor of\\njewelled rank and military array, alive with the tread of many\\nfeet and the hum of an admiring multitude. All had passed\\naway the silence of death had settled again upon the place,\\ninterrupted only by the casual chirping of birds, which had\\nfound their way into the chapel and built their nests among its\\nfriezes and pendants sure signs of solitariness and desertion.\\nWhen I read the names inscribed on the banners, they were\\nthose of men scattered far and wide about the world some\\ntossing upon distant seas some under arms in distant lands\\nsome mingling in the busy intrigues of courts and cabinets,\\nall seeking to deserve one more distinction in this mansion of\\nshadowy honors the melancholy reward of a monument.\\nTwo small aisles on each side of this chapel present a touch-\\ning instance of the equality of the grave, which brings down", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0201.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "166 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthe oppressor to a level with the oppressed and mingles the\\ndust of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the sepulchre\\nof the haughty Elizabeth in the other is that of her victim,\\nthe lovely and unfortunate Mary. Not an hour in the day but\\nsome ejaculation of pity is uttered over the fate of the latter,\\nmingled with indignation at her oppressor. The walls of Eliza-\\nbeth s sepulchre continually echo with the sighs of sympathy\\nheaved at the grave of her rival.\\nA peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary lies\\nburied. The light struggles dimly through windows darkened\\nby dust. The greater part of the place is in deep shadow, and\\nthe walls are stained and tinted by time and weather. A\\nmarble figure of Mary is stretched upon the tomb, round which\\nis an iron railing, much corroded, bearing her national emblem\\nthe thistle. I was weary with wandering, and sat down\\nto rest myself by the monument, revolving in my mind the\\nchequered and disastrous story of poor Mary.\\nThe sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the abbey. I\\ncould only hear, now and then, the distant voice of the priest\\nrepeating the evening service and the faint responses of the\\nchoir these paused for a time, and all was hushed. The still-\\nness, the desertion, and obscurity that were gradually prevail-\\ning around gave a deeper and more solemn interest to the\\nplace\\nFor in the silent grave no conversation,\\nWo 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 organ burst upon\\nthe ear, falling with doubled and redoubled intensity, and roll-\\ning, as it were, huge billows of sound. How well do their\\nvolume and grandeur accord with this mighty building With\\nwhat pomp do they swell through its vast vaults, and breathe", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0202.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "WESTMINSTER ABBEY 167\\ntheir awful harmony through these caves of death, and make\\nthe silent sepulchre vocal And now they rise in triumphant\\nacclamation, heaving higher and higher their accordant notes\\nand piling sound on sound. And now they pause, and the\\nsoft voices of the choir break out into sweet gushes of melody\\nthey soar aloft and warble along the roof, and seem to play\\nabout these lofty vaults like the pure airs of heaven. Again\\nthe pealing organ heaves its thrilling thunders, compressing air\\ninto music, and rolling it forth upon the soul. What long-\\ndrawn cadences What solemn sweeping concords It grows\\nmore and more dense and powerful it fills the vast pile and\\nseems to jar the very walls the ear is stunned the\\nsenses are overwhelmed. And now it is winding up in full\\njubilee it is rising from the earth to heaven the very soul\\nseems rapt away and floated upwards on the swelling tide of\\nharmony\\nI sat for some time lost in that kind of reverie which a strain\\nof music is apt sometimes to inspire the shadows of evening\\nwere gradually thickening round me the monuments began\\nto cast deeper and deeper gloom and the distant clock again\\ngave token of the slowly waning day.\\nI rose and prepared to leave the abbey. As I descended the\\nflight of steps which lead into the body of the building, my\\neye was caught by the shrine of Edward the Confessor, and I\\nascended the small staircase that conducts to it, to take from\\nthence a general survey of this wilderness of tombs. The\\nshrine is elevated upon a kind of platform, and close around it\\nare the sepulchres of various kings and queens. From this\\neminence the eye looks down between pillars and funeral\\ntrophies to the chapels and chambers below, crowded with\\ntombs, where warriors, prelates, courtiers, and statesmen lie\\nmouldering in their beds of darkness. Close by me stood\\nthe great chair of coronation, rudely carved of oak in the bar-\\nbarous taste of a remote and Gothic age. The scene seemed", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0203.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "168 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nalmost as if contrived with theatrical artifice to produce an\\neffect upon the beholder. Here was a type of the beginning\\nand the end of human pomp and power here it was literally\\nbut a step from the throne to the sepulchre. Would not one\\nthink that these incongruous mementos had been gathered to-\\ngether as a lesson to living greatness to show it, even in\\nthe moment of its proudest exaltation, the neglect and dishonor\\nto which it must soon arrive how soon that crown which\\nencircles its brow must pass away, and it must lie down in the\\ndust and disgraces of the tomb, and be trampled upon by the\\nfeet of the meanest of the multitude. For, strange to tell, even\\nthe grave is here no longer a sanctuary. There is a shocking\\nlevity in some natures which leads them to sport with awful\\nand hallowed things, and there are base minds which delight\\nto revenge on the illustrious dead the abject homage and\\ngrovelling servility which they pay to the living. The coffin\\nof Edward the Confessor has been broken open, and his re-\\nmains despoiled of their funereal ornaments the sceptre has\\nbeen stolen from the hand of the imperious Elizabeth and the\\neffigy of Henry the Fifth lies headless. Not a royal monu-\\nment but bears some proof how false and fugitive is the hom-\\nage of mankind. Some are plundered, some mutilated, some\\ncovered with ribaldry and insult, all more or less outraged\\nand dishonored.\\nThe last beams of day were now faintly streaming through\\nthe painted windows in the high vaults above me the lower\\nparts of the abbey were already wrapped in the obscurity of\\ntwilight. The chapels and aisles grew darker and darker. The\\neffigies of the kings faded into shadows the marble figures of\\nthe monuments assumed strange shapes in the uncertain light\\nthe evening breeze crept through the aisles like the cold breath\\nof the grave and even the distant footfall of a verger, travers-\\ning the Poet s Corner, had something strange and dreary in\\nits sound. I slowly retraced my morning s walk, and as", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0204.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "WESTMINSTER ABBEY 169\\nI passed out at the portal of the cloisters, the door, closing\\nwith a jarring noise behind me, rilled the whole building with\\nechoes.\\nI endeavored to form some arrangement in my mind of the\\nobjects I had been contemplating, but found they were already\\nfalling into indistinctness and confusion. Names, inscriptions,\\ntrophies, had all become confounded in my recollection, though\\nI had scarcely taken my foot from off the threshold. What,\\nthought I, is this vast assemblage of sepulchres but a treasury\\nof humiliation a huge pile of reiterated homilies on the\\nemptiness of renown and the certainty of oblivion It is, in-\\ndeed, the empire of death his great shadowy palace where he\\nsits in state mocking at the relics of human glory and spreading\\ndust and forgetfulness on the monuments of princes. How idle\\na boast, after all, is the immortality of a name Time is ever\\nsilently turning over his pages we are too much engrossed by\\nthe story of the present to think of the characters and anecdotes\\nthat gave interest to the past and each age is a volume thrown\\naside to be speedily forgotten. The idol of to-day pushes the\\nhero of yesterday out of our recollection, and will in turn\\nbe supplanted by his successor of to-morrow. Our fathers,\\nsays Sir Thomas Browne, find their graves in our short\\nmemories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried in our sur-\\nvivors. History fades into fable fact becomes clouded with\\ndoubt and controversy the inscription moulders from the tab-\\nlet the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches,\\npyramids, what are they but heaps of sand, and their epitaphs\\nbut characters written in the dust What is the security of\\na tomb or the perpetuity of an embalmment The remains of\\nAlexander the Great have been scattered to the wind, and his\\nempty sarcophagus is now the mere curiosity of a museum,\\nThe Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or time hath spared,\\navarice now consumeth Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh\\nis sold for balsams.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0205.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "170 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nWhat then is to ensure this pile which now towers above\\nme from sharing the fate of mightier mausoleums The time\\nmust come when its gilded vaults which now spring so loftily,\\nshall lie in rubbish beneath the feet when instead of the\\nsound of melody and praise the wind shall whistle through the\\nbroken arches and the owl hoot from the shattered tower; when\\nthe garish sunbeam shall break into these gloomy mansions of\\ndeath, and the ivy twine round the fallen column and the fox-\\nglove hang its blossoms about the nameless urn, as if in mockery\\nof the dead. Thus man passes away his name perishes from\\nrecord and recollection his history is as a tale that is told, and\\nhis very monument becomes a ruin.\\nNOTES CONCERNING WESTMINSTER ABBEY\\nToward the end of the sixth century, when Britain, under the domin-\\nion of the Saxons, was in a state of barbarism and idolatry, Pope Greg-\\nory the Great, struck with the beauty of some Anglo-Saxon youths ex-\\nposed for sale in the market-place at Rome, conceived a fancy for the\\nrace, and determined to send missionaries to preach the gospel among\\nthese comely but benighted islanders. He was encouraged to this by\\nlearning that Ethelbert, king of Kent and the most potent of the\\nAnglo-Saxon princes, had married Bertha, a Christian princess, only\\ndaughter of the king of Paris, and that she was allowed by stipulation\\nthe full exercise of her religion.\\nThe shrewd pontiff knew the influence of the sex in matters of\\nreligious faith. He forthwith dispatched Augustine, a Roman monk,\\nwith forty associates, to the court of Ethelbert at Canterbury, to effect\\nthe conversion of the king and to obtain through him a foothold in the\\nisland.\\nEthelbert received them warily, and held a conference in the open\\nair, being distrustful of foreign priestcraft and fearful of spells and\\nmagic. They ultimately succeeded in making him as good a Christian\\nas his wife the conversion of the king of course produced the conver-\\nsion of his loyal subjects. The zeal and success of Augustine were\\nrewarded by his being made archbishop of Canterbury, and being en-\\ndowed with authority over all the British churches.\\nOne of the most prominent converts was Segebert or Sebert, king of\\nthe East Saxons, a nephew of Ethelbert. He reigned at London, of\\nwhich Mellitus, one of the Roman monks who had come over with\\nAugustine, was made bishop.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0206.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "WESTMINSTER ABBEY 171\\nSebert in 605, in his religions zeal, founded a monastery by the river-\\nside to the west of the city, on the ruins of a temple of Apollo, being,\\nin fact, the origin of the present pile of Westminster Abbey. Great\\npreparations were made for the consecration of the church, which was\\nto be dedicated to St. Peter. On the morning of the appointed day\\nMellitus, the bishop, proceeded with great pomp and solemnity to per-\\nform the ceremony. On approaching the edifice he was met by a fish-\\nerman, who informed him that it was needless to proceed, as the cere-\\nmony was over. The bishop stared with surprise, when the fisherman\\nwent on to relate that the night before, as he was on his boat on the\\nThames, St. Peter appeared to him, and told him that he intended to\\nconsecrate the church himself that very night. The apostle accordingly\\nwent into the church, which suddenly became illuminated. The cere-\\nmony was performed in sumptuous style accompanied by strains of\\nheavenly music and clouds of fragrant incense, After this the apostle\\ncame into the boat and ordered the fisherman to cast his net. He did\\nso, and had a miraculous draught of fishes, one of which he was com-\\nmanded to present to the bishop, and to signify to him that the apostle\\nhad relieved him from the necessity of consecrating the church.\\nMellitus was a wary man, slow of belief, and required confirmation\\nof the fisherman s tale. He opened the church doors and beheld wax\\ncandles, crosses, holy water, oil sprinkled in various places, and vari-\\nous other traces of a grand ceremonial. If he had still any lingering\\ndoubts, they were completely removed on the fisherman s producing\\nthe identical fish which he had been ordered by the apostle to present\\nto him. To resist this would have been to resist ocular demonstration.\\nThe good bishop accordingly was convinced that the church had actu-\\nally been consecrated by St. Peter in person so he reverently abstained\\nfrom proceeding further in the business.\\nThe foregoing tradition is said to be the reason why King Edward\\nthe Confessor chose this place as the site of a religious house which he\\nmeant to endow. He pulled down the old church and built another in\\nits place in 1045. In this his remains were deposited in a magnificent\\nshrine.\\nThe sacred edifice again underwent modifications, if not a recon-\\nstruction, by Henry III. in 1220, and began to assume its present\\nappearance.\\nUnder Henry VIII. it lost its conventual character, that monarch\\nturning the monks away and seizing upon the revenues.\\nRELICS OF EDWARD THE CONFESSOR\\nA curious narrative was printed in 1688 by one of the choristers of the\\ncathedral, who appears to have been the Paul Pry of the sacred edifice,\\ngiving an account of his rummaging among the bones of Edward the\\nConfessor, after they had quietly reposed in their sepulchre upwards of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0207.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "172 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nsix hundred years, and of his drawing forth the crucifix and golden\\nchain of the deceased monarch. During eighteen years that he had\\nofficiated in the choir it had been a common tradition, he says, among\\nhis brother-choristers and the gray-headed servants of the abbey that\\nthe body of King Edward was deposited in a kind of chest or coffin\\nwhich was indistinctly seen in the upper part of the shrine erected to\\nhis memory. None of the abbey gossips, however, had ventured upon\\na nearer inspection until the worthy narrator, to gratify his curiosity,\\nmounted to the coffin by the aid of a ladder, and found it to be made of\\nwood, apparently very strong and firm, being secured by bands of iron.\\nSubsequently, in 1685, on taking down the scaffolding used in the-\\ncoronation of James II. the coffin was found to be broken, a hole\\nappearing in the lid, probably made through accident by the workmen.\\nNo one ventured, however, to meddle with the sacred depository of\\nroyal dust until, several weeks afterwards, the circumstance came to\\nthe knowledge of the aforesaid chorister. He forthwith repaired to\\nthe abbey in company with two friends of congenial tastes, who were\\ndesirous of inspect! ng the tombs. Procuring a ladder, he again mounted\\nto the coffin, and found, as had been represented, a hole in the lid about\\nsix inches long and four inches broad, just in front of the left breast.\\nThrusting in his hand and groping among the bones, he drew from\\nunderneath the shoulder a crucifix, richly adorned and enamelled,\\naffixed to a gold chain twenty-four inches long. These he showed to\\nhis inquisitive friends, who were equally surprised with himself.\\nAt the time, says he, when I took the cross and chain out of the\\ncoffin drew the head to the hole and viewed it, being very sound and\\nfirm, with the upper and nether jaws whole and full of teeth, and a list\\nof gold above an inch broad, in the nature of a coronet, surrounding\\nthe temples. There was also in the coffin white linen and gold-colored\\nflowered silk, that looked indifferent fresh but the least stress put\\nthereto showed it was wellnigh perished. There were all his bones,\\nand much dust likewise, which I left as I found.\\nIt is difficult to conceive a more grotesque lesson to human pride than\\nthe skull of Edward the Confessor thus irreverently pulled about in its\\ncoffin by a prying chorister, and brought to grin face to face with him\\nthrough a hole in the lid.\\nHaving satisfied his curiosity, the chorister put the crucifix and chain\\nback again into the coffin, and sought the dean to apprise him of his\\ndiscovery. The dean not being accessible at the time, and fearing that\\nthe holy treasure might be taken away by other hands, he got a\\nbrother-chorister to accompany him to the shrine about two or three\\nhours afterwards, and in his presence again drew forth the relics.\\nThese he afterwards delivered on his knees to King James. The king\\nsubsequently had the old coffin inclosed in a new one of great strength,\\n64 each plank being two inches thick and cramped together with large\\niron wedges, where it now remains (1688) as a testimony of his pious\\neare, that no abuse might be offered to the sacred ashes therein re-\\nposited.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0208.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "WESTMINSTER ABBEY 173\\nAs the history of this shrine is full of moral, I subjoin a description\\nof it in modern times. The solitary and forlorn shrine, says a Brit-\\nish writer, now stands a mere skeleton of what it was. A few faint\\ntraces of its sparkling decorations inlaid on solid mortar catch the rays\\nof the sun, forever set on its splendor Only two of the spiral\\npillars remain. The wooden Ionic top is much broken and covered\\nwith dust. The mosaic is picked away in every part within reach;\\nonly the lozenges of about a foot square and five circular pieces of the\\nrich marble remain. Malcolm, Lond. rediv.\\nINSCRIPTION ON A MONUMENT ALLUDED TO IN THE:\\nSKETCH\\nHere lyes the the Loyal Duke of Newcastle, and his Dutchess his\\nsecond wife, by whom he had no issue. Her name was Margaret Lucas,\\nyoungest sister to the Lord Lucas of Colchester, a noble family; for all\\nthe brothers were valiant, and all the sisters virtuous. This Dutchess\\nwas a wise, witty, and learned lady, which her many Bookes do well\\ntestify she was a most virtuous and loving and careful wife, and was\\nwith her lord all the time of his banishment and miseries, and when\\nhe came home, never parted from him in his solitary retirements.\\nIn the winter-time, when the days are short, the service in the after-\\nnoon is performed by the light of tapers. The effect is fine of the choir\\npartially lighted up, while the main body of the cathedral and the tran-\\nsepts are in profound and cavernous darkness. The white dresses of\\nthe choristers gleam amidst the deep brown of the oaken slats and\\ncanopies; the partial illumination makes enormous shadows from\\ncolumns and screens, and, darting into the surrounding gloom, catches\\nhere and there upon a sepulchral decoration or monumental effigy.\\nThe swelling notes of the organ accord well with the scene.\\nWhen the service is over the dean is lighted to his dwelling, in the\\nold conventual part of the pile, by the boys of the choir, in their\\nwhite dresses, bearing tapers, and the procession passes through the\\nabbey and along shadowy cloisters, lighting up angles and arches and\\ngrim sepulchral monuments, and leaving all behind in darkness.\\nOn entering the cloisters at night from what is called the Dean s\\nYard the eye, ranging through a dark vaulted passage, catches a dis-\\ntant view of a white marble figure reclining on a tomb, on which a\\nstrong glare thrown by a gas-light has quite a spectral effect. It is a\\nmural monument of one of the Pultneys.\\nThe cloisters are well worth visiting by moonlight when the moon\\nis in the full.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0209.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "174 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nCHRISTMAS\\nBut is old, old, good old Christinas gone? Nothing but the hair of\\nhis good, gray old head and beard left? Well, I will have that, seeing\\nI cannot have more of him.\\nHue and Cry after Christmas.\\nA man might then behold\\nAt Christmas, in each hall\\nGood 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 gates were not chidden\\nWhen this old cap was new.\\nOld Song.\\nNothing in England exercises a more delightful spell over\\nmy imagination than the lingerings of the holiday customs and\\nrural games of former times. They recall the pictures my fancy\\nused to draw in the May morning of life, when as yet I only\\nknew the world through books, and believed it to be all that\\npoets had painted it and they bring with them the flavor of\\nthose honest days of yore, in which, perhaps with equal fallacy, I\\nam apt to think the world was more homebred, social, and joyous\\nthan at present. I regret to say that they are daily growing\\nmore and more faint, being gradually worn away by time, but\\nstill more obliterated by modern fashion. They resemble those\\npicturesque morsels of Gothic architecture which we see crum-\\nbling in various parts of the country, partly dilapidated by the\\nwaste of ages and partly lost in the additions and alterations of\\nlatter days. Poetry, however, clings with cherishing fondness\\nabout the rural game and holiday revel from which it has derived\\nso many of its themes, as the ivy winds its rich foliage about\\nthe Gothic arch and mouldering tower, gratefully repaying their", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0210.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS 175\\nsupport by clasping together their tottering remains, and, as it\\nwere, embalming them in verdure.\\nOf all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas awakens\\nthe strongest and most heartfelt associations. There is a tone\\nof solemn and sacred feeling that blends with our conviviality,\\nand lifts the spirit to a state of hallowed and elevated enjoy-\\nment. The services of the Church about this season are ex-\\ntremely tender and inspiring. They dwell on the beautiful\\nstory of the origin of our faith and the pastoral scenes that\\naccompanied its announcement. They gradually increase in\\nfervor and pathos during the season of Advent, until they\\nbreak forth in full jubilee on the morning that brought peace\\nand good-will to men. I do not know a grander effect of music\\non the moral feelings than to hear the full choir and the peal-\\ning organ performing a Christmas anthem in a cathedral, and\\nfilling every part of the vast pile with triumphant harmony.\\nIt is a beautiful arrangement, also, derived from days of yore.,\\nthat this festival, which commemorates the announcement ofF\\nthe religion of peace i and love, has been made the season for\\ngathering together of family connections, and drawing closer\\nagain those bands of kindred hearts which the cares and pleasures\\nand sorrows of the world are continually operating to cast loose\\nof calling back the children of a family who have launched forth\\nin life and wandered widely asunder, once more to assemble\\nabout the paternal hearth, that rallying-place of the affections,\\nthere to grow young and loving again among the endearing\\nmementos of childhood.\\nThere is something in the very season of the year that gives\\na charm to the festivity of Christmas. At other times we\\nderive a great portion of our pleasures from the mere beauties\\nof Nature. Our feelings sally forth and dissipate themselves\\nover the sunny landscape, and we live abroad and every-\\nwhere. The song of the bird, the murmur of the stream, the-\\nbreathing fragrance of spring, the soft voluptuousness of sum", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0211.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "176 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nmer, the golden pomp of autumn, earth with its mantle ot\\nrefreshing green, and heaven with its deep delicious blue and\\nits cloudy magnificence, all fill us with mute but exquisite\\ndelight, and we revel in the luxury of mere sensation. But in\\nthe depth of winter, when Nature lies despoiled of every charm\\nand wrapped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn for our\\ngratifications to moral sources. The dreariness and desolation\\n3f the landscape, the short gloomy days and darksome nights,\\nwhile they circumscribe our wanderings, shut in our feelings\\nalso from rambling abroad, and make us more keenly disposed\\nfor the pleasure of the social circle. Our thoughts are more\\nconcentrated our friendly sympathies more aroused. We feel\\nmore sensibly the charm of each other s society, and are brought\\nmore closely together by dependence on each other for enjoy-\\nment. Heart calleth unto heart, and we draw our pleasures\\nfrom the deep wells of loving-kindness which lie in the quiet\\nrecesses of our bosoms, and which, when resorted to, furnish\\nforth the pure element of domestic felicity.\\nThe pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate on entering\\nthe room filled with the glow and warmth of the evening fire.\\nThe ruddy blaze diffuses an artificial summer and sunshine\\nthrough the room, and lights up each countenance in a kindlier\\nwelcome. Where does the honest face of hospitality expand\\ninto a broader and more cordial smile, where is the shy glance\\nof love more sweetly eloquent, than by the winter fireside and\\nas the hollow blast of wintry wind rushes through the hall,\\nclaps the distant door, whistles about the casement, and\\nrumbles down the chimney, what can be more grateful than\\nthat feeling of sober and sheltered security with which we look\\nround upon the comfortable chamber and the scene of domestic\\nhilarity\\nThe English, from the great prevalence of rural habit\\nthroughout every class of society, have always been fond of\\nthose festivals and holidays which agreeably interrupt the still-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0212.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS 177\\nness of country life, and they were, in former days, particularly\\nobservant of the religious and social rites of Christmas. It is\\ninspiring to read even the dry details which some antiquaries\\nhave given of the quaint humors, the burlesque pageants, the\\ncomplete abandonment to mirth and good-fellowship with which\\nthis festival was celebrated. It seemed to throw open every\\ndoor and unlock every heart. It brought the peasant and the\\npeer together, and blended all ranks in one warm, generous flow\\nof joy and kindness. The old halls of castles and manor-houses\\nresounded with the harp and the Christmas carol, and their\\nample boards groaned under the weight of hospitality. Even\\nthe poorest cottage welcomed the festive season with green\\ndecorations of bay and holly the cheerful fire glanced its rays\\nthrough the lattice, inviting the passengers to raise the latch\\nand join the gossip knot huddled round the hearth beguiling\\nthe long evening with legendary jokes and oft-told Christmas\\ntales.\\nOne of the least pleasing effects of modern refinement is the\\nhavoc it v .as made among the hearty old holiday customs. It has\\ncompletely taken off the sharp touchings and spirited reliefs of\\nthese embellishments of life, and has worn down society into a\\nmore smooth and polished, but certainly a less characteristic,\\nsurface. Many of the games and ceremonials of Christmas\\nhave entirely disappeared, and, like the sherris sack of old\\nFalstaff, are become matters of speculation and dispute among\\ncommentators. They flourished in times full of spirit and lusti-\\nhood, when men enjoyed life roughly, but heartily and vigorously\\ntimes wild and picturesque, which have furnished poetry\\nwith its richest materials and the drama with its most attrac-\\ntive variety of characters and manners. The world has become\\nmore worldly. There is more of dissipation, and less of enjoyment.\\nPleasure has expanded into a broader, but a shallower stream,\\nand has forsaken many of those deep and quiet channels where\\nit flowed sweetly through the calm bosom of domestic life*", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0213.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "178 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nSociety has acquired a more enlightened and elegant tone, but\\nit has lost many of its strong local peculiarities, its homebred\\nfeelings, it honest fireside delights. The traditionary customs\\nof golden-hearted antiquity, its feudal hospitalities, and lordly\\nwassailings, have passed away with the baronial castles and\\nstately manor-houses in which they were celebrated. They\\ncomported with the shadowy hall, the great oaken gallery, and\\nthe tapestried parlor, but are unfitted to the light showy\\nsaloons and gay drawing-rooms of the modern villa.\\nShorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive honors,\\nChristmas is still a period of delightful excitement in England.\\nIt is gratifying to see that home- feeling completely aroused\\nwhich holds so powerful a place in every English bosom. The\\npreparations making on every side for the social board that is\\nagain to unite friends and kindred the presents of good cheer\\npassing and repassing, those tokens of regard and quickeners of\\nkind feelings the evergreens distributed about houses and\\nchurches, emblems of peace and gladness, all these have the\\nmost pleasing effect in producing fond associations and kindling\\nbenevolent sympathies. Even the sound of the Waits, rude as\\nmay be their minstrelsy, breaks upon the mid- watches of a win-\\nter night with the effect of perfect harmony. As I have been\\nawakened by them in that still and solemn hour when deep\\nsleep falleth upon man, I have listened with a hushed delight,\\n*md, connecting them with the sacred and joyous occasion, have\\nalmost fancied them into another celestial choir announcing\\npeace and good-will to mankind.\\nHow delightfully the imagination, when wrought upon by\\nthese moral influences, turns everything to melody and beauty\\nThe very crowing of the cock, heard sometimes in the profound\\nrepose of the country, telling the night-watches to his feathery\\ndames, was thought by the common people to announce the\\napproach of this sacred festival.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0214.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS 179\\nsi Some say that ever gainst that season conies\\nWherein our Saviour 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.\\nAmidst the general call to happiness, the bustle of the spirits,\\nand stir of the affections which prevail at this period what\\nbosom can remain insensible It is, indeed, the season of re-\\ngenerated feeling the season for kindling not merely the fire\\nof hospitality in the hall, but the genial flame of charity in the\\nheart.\\nThe scene of early love again rises green to memory beyond\\nthe sterile waste of years and the idea of home, fraught with\\nthe fragrance of home-dwelling joys, reanimates the drooping\\nspirit, as the Arabian breeze will sometimes waft the freshness\\nof the distant fields to the weary pilgrim of the desert.\\nStranger and sojourner as I am in the land, though for me\\nno social hearth may blaze, no hospitable roof throw open its\\ndoors, nor the warm grasp of friendship welcome me at the\\nthreshold, yet I feel the influence of the season beaming into\\nmy soul from the happy looks of those around me. Surely\\nhappiness is reflective, like the light of heaven, and every\\ncountenance, bright with smiles and glowing with innocent\\nenjoyment, is a mirror transmitting to others the rays of a su-\\npreme and ever-shining benevolence. He who can turn churlishly\\naway from contemplating the felicity of his fellow-beings, and\\ncan sit down darkling and repining in his loneliness when all\\naround is joyful, may have his moments of strong excitement\\nand selfish gratification, but he wants the genial and social\\nsympathies which constitute the charm of a merry Christmas,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0215.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "180 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nTHE STAGE-COACH\\nOmne bene\\nSine poena\\nTempua est ludendi.\\nVenit hora\\nAbsque mora\\nLibros deponendi.\\nOld Holiday School-Song.\\nIn the preceding paper I have made some general observa-\\ntions on the Christmas festivities of England, and am tempted\\nto illustrate them by some anecdotes of a Christmas passed in\\nthe country in perusing which I would most courteously in-\\nvite my reader to lay aside the austerity of wisdom, and to put\\non that genuine holiday spirit which is tolerant of folly and\\nanxious only for amusement.\\nIn the course of a December tour, in Yorkshire, I rode for a\\nlong distance in one of the public coaches on the day preceding\\nChristmas. The coach was crowded, both inside and out, with\\npassengers who, by their talk, seemed principally bound to the\\nmansions of relations or friends to eat the Christmas dinner.\\nIt was loaded also with hampers of game and baskets and\\nboxes of delicacies, and hares hung dangling their long ears\\nabout the coachman s box, presents from distant friends for the\\nimpending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked schoolboys\\nfor my fellow-passengers inside, full of the buxom health and\\nmanly spirit which I have observed in the children of this\\ncountry. They were returning home for the holidays in high\\nglee, and promising themselves a world of enjoyment. It was\\ndelightful to hear the gigantic plans of the little rogues, and\\nthe impracticable feats they were to perform during their six\\nweeks 7 emancipation from the abhorred thraldom of book, birch,\\nand pedagogue. They were full of anticipations of the meeting", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0216.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "THE STAGE-COACH 181\\nwith the family and household, down to the very cat and dog,\\nand of the joy they were to give their little sisters by the\\npresents with which their pockets were crammed but the\\nmeeting to which they seemed to look forward with the great-\\nest impatience was with Bantam, which I found to be a pony,\\nand, according to their talk, possessed of more virtues than any\\nsteed since the days of Bucephalus. How he could trot how\\nhe could run and then such leaps as he would take there\\nwas not a hedge in the whole country that he could not clear.\\nThey were under the particular guardianship of the coach-\\nman, to whom, whenever an opportunity presented, they ad-\\ndressed a host of questions, and pronounced him one of the\\nbest fellows in the world. Indeed, I could not but notice the\\nmore than ordinary air of bustle and importance of the coach-\\nman, who wore his hat a little on one side and had a large\\nbunch of Christmas greens stuck in the buttonhole of his coat.\\nHe is always a personage full of mighty care and business, but\\nhe is particularly so during this season, having so many com-\\nmissions to execute in consequence of the great interchange of\\npresents. And here, perhaps, it may not be unacceptable\\nto my un travelled readers to have a sketch that may serve\\nas a general representation of this very numerous and im-\\nportant class of functionaries, who have a dress, a manner, a\\nlanguage, an air peculiar to themselves and prevalent through-\\nout the fraternity; so that wherever an English stage-coachman\\nmay be seen he cannot be mistaken for one of any other craft\\nor mystery.\\nHe has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled with\\nred, as if the blood had been forced by hard feeding into every\\nvessel of the skin he is swelled into jolly dimensions by fre-\\nquent potations of malt liquors, and his bulk is still further\\nincreased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he is buried like\\na cauliflower, the upper one reaching to his heels. He wears a\\nbroad-brimmed, low-crowned hat a huge roll of colored hand-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0217.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "182 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted and tucked in at\\nthe bosom and has in summer-time a large bouquet of flowers\\nin his buttonhole, the present, most probably, of some enamored\\ncountry lass. His waistcoat is commonly of some bright color,\\nstriped, and his small-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet\\na pair of jockey boots which reach about halfway up his legs.\\nAll this costume is maintained with much precision he has\\na pride in having his clothes of excellent materials, and, not-\\nwithstanding the seeming grossness of his appearance, there is\\nstill discernible that neatness and propriety of person which is\\nalmost inherent in an Englishman. He enjoys great conse-\\nquence aud consideration along the road has frequent confer-\\nences with the village housewives, who look upon him as a\\nman of great trust and dependence and he seems to have a\\ngood understanding with every bright-eyed country lass. The\\nmoment he arrives where the horses are to be changed, he\\nthrows down the reins with something of an air and abandons\\nthe cattle to the care of the ostler, his duty being merely to\\ndrive from one stage to another. When off the box his hands\\nare thrust into the pockets of his great coat, and he rolls about\\nthe inn-yard with an air of the most absolute lordliness. Here\\nhe is generally surrounded by an admiring throng of ostlers,\\nstable-boys, shoeblacks, and those nameless hangers-on that infest\\ninns and taverns, and run errands and do all kind of odd jobs\\nfor the privilege of battening on the drippings of the kitchen\\nand the leakage of the tap-room. These all look up to him as\\nto an oracle, treasure up his cant phrases*, echo his opinions\\nabout horses and other topics of jockey lore, and, above all,\\nendeavor to imitate his air and carriage. Every ragamuffin that\\nhas a coat to his back thrusts his hands in the pockets, rolls in\\nbis gait, talks slang, and is an embryo Coachey.\\nPerhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity that\\nreigned in my own mind that I fancied I saw cheerfulness in\\nevery countenance throughout the journey. A stage-coach,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0218.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "THE STAGE-COACH 183\\nhowever, carries animation always with it, and puts the world\\nin motion as it whirls along. The horn, sounded at the entrance\\nof the village, produces a general bustle. Some hasten forth\\nto meet friends some with bundles and bandboxes to secure\\nplaces, and in the hurry of the moment can hardly take leave of\\nthe group that accompanies them. In the meantime the coach-\\nman has a world of small commissions to execute. Sometimes he\\ndelivers a hare or pheasant sometimes jerks a small parcel or\\nnewspaper to the door of a public house and sometimes, with\\nknowing leer and words of sly import, hands to some half-\\nblushing, half-laughing housemaid an odd-shaped billet-doux\\nfrom some rustic admirer. As the coach rattles through the\\nvillage every one runs to the window, and you have glances on\\nevery side of fresh country faces and blooming giggling girls.\\nAt the corners are assembled juntos of village idlers and wise\\nmen, who take their stations there for the important purpose of\\nseeing company pass but the sagest knot is generally at the\\nblacksmith s, to whom the passing of the coach is an event\\nfruitful of much speculation. The smith, with the horse s\\nheel in his lap, pauses as the vehicle whirls by the cyclops\\nround the anvil suspend their ringing hammers and suffer the\\niron to grow cool and the sooiy spectre in brown paper cap\\nlaboring at the bellows leans on the handle for a moment, and\\npermits the asthmatic engine to heave a long-drawn sigh, while\\nhe glares through the murky smoke and sulphurous gleams of\\nthe smithy.\\nPerhaps the impending holiday might have given a more than\\nusual animation to the country, for it seemed to me as if every-\\nbody was in good looks and good spirits. Game, poultry, and\\nother luxuries of the table were in brisk circulation in the\\nvillages the grocers butchers and fruiterers shops were\\nthronged with customers. The housewives were stirring briskly\\nabout, putting their dwellings in order, and the glossy brandies\\nof holly with their bright-red berries began to appear at the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0219.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "184 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwindows. The scene brought to mind an old writer s account\\nof Christmas preparation Now capons and hens, besides\\nturkeys, geese, and ducks, with beef and mutton, must all die,\\nfor in twelve days a multitude of people will not be fed with a\\nlittle. Now plums and spice, sugar and honey, square it\\namong pies and broth. Now or never must music be in tune,\\nfor the youth must dance and sing to get them a heat, while\\nthe aged sit by the fire. The country maid leaves half her\\nmarket, and must be sent again if she forgets a pack of cards\\non Christinas Eve. Great is the contention of holly and ivy\\nwhether master or dame wears the breeches. Dice and cards\\nbenefit the butler; and if the cook do not lack wit, he will\\nsweetly lick his fingers.\\nI was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation by a shout\\nfrom my little travelling companions. They had been looking\\nout of the coach-windows for the last few miles recognizing\\nevery tree and cottage as they approached home, and now there\\nwas a general burst of joy. There s John and there s old\\nCarlo and there s Bantam cried the happy little rogues,\\nclapping their hands.\\nAt the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking servant\\nin livery waiting for them he was accompanied by a superan-\\nnuated pointer and by the redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat\\nof a pony with a shaggy mane and long rusty tail, who stood\\ndozing quietly by the roadside, little dreaming of the bustling\\ntimes that awaited him.\\nI was pleased to see the fondness with which the little fellows\\nleaped about the steady old footman and hugged the pointer,\\nwho wriggled his whole body for joy. But Bantam was the\\ngreat object of interest all wanted to mount at once, and it\\nwas with some difficulty that John arranged that they should\\nride by turns and the eldest should ride first.\\nOff they set at last, one on the pony, with the dog bounding\\nand barking before him, and the others holding John s hands,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0220.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "THE STAGE-COACH 185\\nboth talking at once and overpowering him with questions\\nabout home and with school anecdotes. I looked after them\\nwith a feeling in which I do not know whether pleasure or\\nmelancholy predominated for I was reminded of those days\\nwhen, like them, I had known neither care nor sorrow and a\\nholiday was the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few\\nmoments afterwards to water the horses, and on resuming our\\nroute a turn of the road brought us in sight of a neat country-\\nseat. I could just distinguish the forms of a lady and two\\nyoung girls in the portico, and I saw my little comrades, with\\nBantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the carriage-\\nroad. I leaned out of the coach-window, in hopes of wit-\\nnessing the happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from\\nmy sight.\\nIn the evening we reached a village where I had determined\\nto pass the night. As we drove into the great gateway of the\\ninn, I saw on one side the light of a rousing kitchen-fire beam-\\ning through a window. I entered, and admired, for the hun-\\ndredth time, that picture of convenience, neatness, and broad\\nhonest enjoyment, the kitchen of an English inn. It was of\\nspacious dimensions, hung round with copper and tin vessels\\nhighly polished, and decorated here and there with a Christmas\\ngreen. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon were suspended\\nfrom the ceiling a smoke-jack made its ceaseless clanking beside\\nthe fireplace, and a clock ticked in one corner. A well-scoured\\ndeal table extended along one side of the kitchen, with a cold\\nround of beef and other hearty viands upon it, over which two\\nfoaming tankards of ale seemed mounting guard. Travellers\\nof inferior order were preparing to attack this stout repast,\\nwhile others sat smoking and gossiping over their ale on two\\nhigh-backed oaken settles beside the fire. Trim housemaids\\nwere hurrying backwards and forwards under the directions of\\na fresh bustling landlady, but still seizing an occasional moment\\nto exchange a flippant word and have a rallying laugh with the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0221.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "186 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ngroup round the fire. The scene completely realized Poo\\\\\\nRobins humble idea of the comforts of mid-winter:\\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.\\n1 had not been long at the inn when a post-chaise drove up\\nto the door. A young gentleman stept out, and by the light of\\nthe lamps I caught a glimpse of a countenance which I thought\\nI knew. I moved forward to get a nearer view, when his eye\\ncaught mine. I was not mistaken it was Frank Bracebridge,\\na sprightly, good-humored young fellow with whom I had once\\ntravelled on the Continent. Our meeting was extremely cordial,\\nfor the countenance of an old fellow-traveller always brings up\\nthe recollection of a thousand pleasant scenes, odd adventures,\\nand excellent jokes. To discuss all these in a transient inter-\\nview at an inn was impossible and, finding that I was not\\npressed for time and was merely making a tour of observation,\\nhe insisted that I should give him a day or two at his father s\\ncountry-seat, to which he was going to pass the holidays and\\nwhich lay at a few miles distance. It is better than eating a\\nsolitary Christmas dinner at an inn, said he, and I can\\nassure you of a hearty welcome in something of the old-fashioned\\nstyle. His reasoning was cogent, and I must confess the\\npreparation I had seen for universal festivity and social enjoy-\\nment had made me feel a little impatient of my loneliness. I\\nclosed, therefore, at once with his invitation the chaise drove\\nup to the door, and in a few moments I was on my way to the\\nfamily mansion of the Bracebridges.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0222.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS EVE 187\\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, weezels, rats, and ferrets\\nFrom curfew time\\nTo the next prime.\\nCart wright.\\nIt was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely cold our\\nchaise whirled rapidly over the frozen ground the postboy\\nsmacked his whip incessantly, and a part of the time his horses\\nwere on a gallop. He knows where he is going, said my\\ncompanion, laughing, and is eager to arrive in time for some\\nof the merriment and good cheer of the servants hall. My\\nfather, you must know, is a bigoted devotee of the old school,\\nand prides himself upon keeping up something of old English\\nhospitality. He is a tolerable specimen of what you will rarely\\nmeet with nowadays in its purity, the old English country\\ngentleman; for our men of fortune spend so much of their\\ntime in town, and fashion is carried so much into the country,\\nthat the strong rich peculiarities of ancient rural life are almost\\npolished away. My father, however, from early years, took\\nhonest Peacham for his text-book, instead of Chesterfield he\\ndetermined in his own mind that there was no condition more\\ntruly honorable and enviable than that of a country gentleman\\non his paternal lands, and therefore passes the whole of his\\ntime on his estate. He is a strenuous advocate for the revival\\nof the old rural games and holiday observances, and is deeply\\nread in the writers, ancient and modern, who have treated on", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0223.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "188 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthe subject. Indeed, his favorite range of reading is among the\\nauthors who flourished at least two centuries since, who, he\\ninsists, wrote and thought more like true Englishmen than any\\nof their successors. He even regrets sometimes that he had\\nnot been born a few centuries earlier, when England was itself\\nand had its peculiar manners and customs. As he lives at\\nsome distance from the main road, in rather a lonely part of\\nthe country, without any rival gentry near him, he has that\\nmost enviable of all blessings to an Englishman an opportu-\\nnity of indulging the bent of his own humor without molestation.\\nBeing representative of the oldest family in the neighborhood,\\nand a great part of the peasantry being his tenants, he is much\\nlooked up to, and in general is known simply by the appel-\\nlation of The Squire a title which has been accorded\\nto the head of the family since time immemorial. I think\\nit best to give you these hints about my worthy old father, to\\nprepare you for any eccentricities that might otherwise appear\\nabsurd.\\nWe had passed for some time along the wall of a park, and\\nat length the chaise stopped at the gate. It was in a heavy,\\nmagnificent old style, of iron bars fancifully wrought at top\\ninto flourishes and flowers. The huge square columns that\\nsupported the gate were surmounted by the family crest. Close\\nadjoining was the porter s lodge, sheltered under dark fir trees\\nand almost buried in shrubbery.\\nThe postboy rang a large porter s bell, which resounded\\nthrough the still, frosty air, and was answered by the distant\\nbarking of dogs, with which the mansion-house seemed garrisoned.\\nAn old woman immediately appeared at the gate. As the moon-\\nlight fell strongly upon her, I had a full view of a little primitive\\ndame, dressed very much in the antique taste, with a neat ker-\\nchief and stomacher, and her silver hair peeping from under a\\ncap of snowy whiteness. She came curtseying forth, with many\\nexpressions of simple joy at seeing her young master. Her", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0224.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS EVE 189\\nhusband, it seemed, was up at the house keeping Christmas Eve\\nin the servants hall; they could not do without him, as he was\\nthe best hand at a song and story in the household.\\nMy friend proposed that we should alight and walk through\\nthe park to the hall, which was at no great distance, while the\\nchaise should follow on. Our road wound through a noble\\navenue of trees, among the naked branches of which the moon\\nglittered as she rolled through the deep vault of a cloudless sky.\\nThe lawn beyond was sheeted with a slight covering of snow,\\nwhich here and there sparkled as the moonbeams caught a\\nfrosty crystal, and at a distance might be seen a thin transparent\\nvapor stealing up from the low grounds and threatening gradually\\nto shroud the landscape.\\nMy companion looked around him with transport. How\\noften, said he, have I scampered up this avenue on returning\\nhome on school vacations How often have I played under\\nthese trees when a boy I feel a degree of filial reverence for\\nthem, as we look up to those who have cherished us in childhood.\\nMy father was always scrupulous in exacting our holidays and\\nhaving us around him on family festivals. He used to direct\\nand superintend our games with the strictness that some parents\\ndo the studies of their children. He was very particular that\\nwe should play the old English games according to their original\\nform, and consulted old books for precedent and authority for\\nevery merrie disport yet I assure you there never was pedan-\\ntry so delightful. It was the policy of the good old gentleman\\nto make his children feel that home was the happiest place in\\nthe world and I value this delicious home-feeling as one of the\\nchoicest gifts a parent could bestow.\\nWe were interrupted by the clamor of a troop of dogs of all\\nsorts and sizes, mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, and curs\\nof low degree, that, disturbed by the ring of the porter s bell\\nand the rattling of the chaise, came bounding, open-mouthed,\\nacross the lawn", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0225.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "190 THE SKETCH BOOK\\n-The little dogs and all,\\nTray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me\\ncried Bracebridge, laughing. At the sound of his voice the\\nbark was changed into a yelp of delight, and in a moment he\\nwas surrounded and almost overpowered by the caresses of the\\nfaithful animals.\\nWe had now come in full view of the old family mansion,\\npartly thrown in deep shadow and partly lit up by the cold\\nmoonshine. It was an irregular building of some magnitude,\\nand seemed to be of the architecture of different periods. One\\nwing was evidently very ancient, with heavy stone-shafted bow\\nwindows jutting out and overrun with ivy, from among the\\nfoliage of which the small diamond-shaped panes of glass glit-\\ntered with the moonbeams. The rest of the house was in the\\nFrench taste of Charles the Second s time, having been repaired\\nand altered, as my friend told me, by one of his ancestors who\\nreturned with that monarch at the Restoration. The grounds\\nabout the house were laid out in the old formal manner of arti-\\nficial flower-beds, clipped shrubberies, raised terraces, and heavy\\nstone balustrades, ornamented with urns, a leaden statue or\\ntw T o, and a jet of water. The old gentleman, I was told, was\\nextremely careful to preserve this obsolete finery in all its orig-\\ninal state. He admired this fashion in gardening it had an\\nair of magnificence, was courtly and noble, and befitting good\\nold family style. The boasted imitation of Nature in modern\\ngardening had sprung up with modern republican notions, but\\ndid not suit a monarchical government it smacked of the level-\\nling system. I could not help smiling at this introduction of\\npolitics into gardening, though I expressed some apprehension\\nthat I should find the old gentleman rather intolerant in his\\ncreed. Frank assured me, however, that it was almost the\\nonly instance in which he had ever heard his father meddle with\\npolitics; and he believed that he had got this notion from a\\nmember of Parliament who once passed a few weeks with him.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0226.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS EVE 191\\nThe squire was glad of any argument to defend his clipped yew\\ntrees and formal terraces, which had been occasionally attacked\\nby modern landscape gardeners.\\nAs we approached the house we heard the sound of music,\\nand now and then a burst of laughter from one end of the build-\\ning. This, Bracebridge said, must proceed from the servants\\nhall, where a great deal of revelry was permitted, and even\\nencouraged, by the squire throughout the twelve days of Christ-\\nmas, provided everything was done conformably to ancient usage.\\nHere were kept up the old games of hoodman blind, shoe the\\nwild mare, hot cockles, steal the white loaf, bob apple, and snap\\ndragon the Yule clog and Christmas candle were regularly\\nburnt, and the mistletoe with its white berries hung up, to the\\nimminent peril of all the pretty housemaids.\\nSo intent were the servants upon their sports that we had\\nto ring repeatedly before we could make ourselves heard. On\\nour arrival being announced the squire came out to receive us,\\naccompanied by his two other sons one a young officer in the\\narmy, home on a leave of absence; the other an Oxonian, just\\nfrom the university. The squire was a fine healthy-looking\\nold gentleman, with silver hair curling lightly round an open\\ntiorid countenance, in which the physiognomist, with the ad-\\nvantage, like myself, of a previous hint or two, might discover\\na singular mixture of whim and benevolence.\\nThe family meeting was warm and affectionate as the even-\\ning was far advanced, the squire would not permit us to change\\nour travelling dresses, but ushered us at once to the company,\\nwhich was assembled in a large old-fashioned hall. It was\\ncomposed of different branches of a numerous family connection,\\nwhere there were the usual proportion of old uncles and aunts,\\ncomfortable married dames, superannuated spinsters, blooming\\ncountry cousins, half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyed board-\\ning-school hoydens. They were variously occupied some at\\na round game of cards others conversing around the fireplace", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0227.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "192 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nat one end of the hall was a group of the young folks, some\\nnearly grown up, others of a more tender and budding age, fully\\nengrossed by a merry game and a profusion of wooden horses,\\npenny trumpets, and tattered dolls about the floor showed traces\\nof a troop of little fairy beings who, having frolicked through\\na happy day, had been carried off to slumber tnrough a peace-\\nful night.\\nWhile the mutual greetings were going on between young\\nBracebridge and his relatives I had time to scan the apart-\\nment. I have called it a hall, for so it had certainly been in\\nold times, and the squire had evidently endeavored to restore\\nit to something of its primitive state. Over the heavy project-\\ning fireplace was suspended a picture of a warrior in armor,\\nstanding by a white horse, and on the opposite wall hung a\\nhelmet, buckler, and lance. At one end an enormous pair of\\nantlers were inserted in the wall, the branches serving as hooks\\non which to suspend hats, whips, and spurs, and in the corners\\nof the apartment were fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, and other\\nsporting implements. The furniture was of the cumbrous work-\\nmanship of former days, though some articles of modern con-\\nvenience had been added and the oaken floor had been carpeted,\\nso that the whole presented an odd mixture of parlor and hall.\\nThe grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming\\nfireplace to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which\\nwas an enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending forth\\na vast volume of light and heat this, I understood, was the\\nYule ciog,\u00c2\u00b0 which the squire was particular in having brought\\nin and illumined on a Christmas Eve, according to ancient\\ncustom.\\nIt was really delightful to see the old squire seated in his\\nhereditary elbow-chair by the hospitable fireside of his ancestors,\\nand looking around him like the sun of a system, beaming\\nwarmth and gladness to every heart. Even the very dog that\\nlay stretched at his feet, as he lazily shifted his position and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0228.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS EVE 193\\nyawned would look fondly up in his master s face, wag his tail\\nagainst the floor, and stretch himself again to sleep, confi-\\ndent of kindness and protection. There is an emanation from\\nthe heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but\\nis immediately felt and puts the stranger at once at his ease.\\nI had not been seated many minutes by the comfortable hearth\\nof the worthy old cavalier before I found myself as much at\\nhome as if I had been one of the family.\\nSupper was announced shortly after our arrival. It was\\nserved up in a spacious oaken chamber, the panels of which\\nshone with wax, and around which were several family portraits\\ndecorated with holly and ivy. Besides the accustomed lights,\\ntwo great wax tapers, called Christmas candles, wreathed with\\ngreens, were placed on a highly polished beaufet among the\\nfamily plate. The table was abundantly spread with substan-\\ntial fare but the squire made his supper of frumenty, a dish\\nmade of wheat cakes boiled in milk with rich spices, being\\na standing dish in old times for Christmas Eve. I was happy\\nto find my old friend, minced pie, in the retinue of the feast\\nand, finding him to be perfectly orthodox, and that I need not\\nbe ashamed of my predilection, I greeted him with all the\\nwarmth wherewith we usually greet an old and very genteel\\nacquaintance.\\nThe mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the\\nhumors of an eccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge always\\naddressed with the quaint appellation of Master Simon. He\\nwas a tight brisk little man, with the air of an arrant old\\nbachelor. His nose was shaped like the bill of a parrot his\\nface slightly pitted with the small-pox, with a dry perpetual\\nbloom on it, like a frostbitten leaf in autumn. He had an eye\\nof great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery and lurking\\nwaggery of expression that was irresistible. He was evidently\\nthe wit of the family, dealing very much in sly jokes and\\nInnuendoes with the ladies, and making infinite merriment by", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0229.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "194 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nharping upon old themes, which, unfortunately, my ignorance\\nof the family chronicles did not permit me to enjoy. It seemed\\nto be his great delight during supper to keep a young girl next\\nto him in a continual agony of stifled laughter, in spite of her\\nawe of the reproving looks of her mother, who sat opposite.\\nIndeed, he was the idol of the younger part of the company,\\nwho laughed at everything he said or did and at every turn\\nof his countenance. I could not wonder at it for he must\\nhave been a miracle of accomplishments in their eyes. He\\ncould imitate Punch and Judy make an old woman of his hand,\\nwith the assistance of a burnt cork and pocket-handkerchief\\nand cut an orange into such a ludicrous caricature that the\\nyoung folks were ready to die with laughing.\\nI was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge. He\\nwas an old bachelor, of a small independent income, which by\\ncareful management was sufficient for all his wants. He re-\\nvolved through the family system like a vagrant comet in its\\norbit, sometimes visiting one branch, and sometimes another\\nquite remote, as is often the case with gentlemen of extensive\\nconnections and small fortunes in England. He had a chirp-\\ning, buoyant disposition, always enjoying the present moment\\nand his frequent change of scene and company prevented his\\nacquiring those rusty, unaccommodating habits with which old\\nbachelors are so uncharitably charged. He was a complete\\nfamily chronicle, being versed in the genealogy, history, and\\nintermarriages of the whole house of Bracebridge, which made\\nhim a great favorite with the old folks he was a beau of all\\nthe elder ladies and superannuated spinsters, among whom he\\nwas habitually considered rather a young fellow and he was\\nmaster of the revels among the children, so that there was not a\\nmore popular being in the sphere in which he moved than Mr.\\nSimon Bracebridge. Of late years he had resided almost\\nentirely with the squire, to whom he had become a factotum,\\nand whom he particularly delighted by jumping with his humor", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0230.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS EVE 195\\nin respect to old times and by having a scrap of an old song to\\nsuit every occasion. We had presently a specimen of his last-\\nmentioned talent, for no sooner was supper removed and spiced\\nwines and other beverages peculiar to the season introduced,\\nthan Master Simon was called on for a good old Christmas\\nsong. He bethought himself for a moment, and then, with a\\nsparkle of the eye and a voice that was by no means bad,\\nexcepting that it ran occasionally into a falsetto like the noten\\nof a split reed, 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, and an old\\nharper was summoned from the servants hall, where he had\\nbeen strumming all the evening, and to all appearance comfort-\\ning himself with some of the squire s home-brewed. He was a\\nkind of hanger-on, I was told, of the establishment, and, though\\nostensibly a resident of the village, was oftener to be found in\\nthe squire s kitchen than his own home, the old gentleman\\nbeing fond of the sound of harp in hall.\\nThe dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry one\\nsome of the older folks joined in it, and the squire himself\\nfigured down several couple with a partner with whom he affirmed\\nhe had danced at every Christmas for nearly half a century.\\nMaster Simon, who seemed to be a kind of connecting link\\nbetween the old times and the new, and to be withal a little\\nantiquated in the taste of his accomplishments, evidently piqued\\nhimself on his dancing, and was endeavoring to gain credit by\\nthe heel and toe, rigadoon, and other graces of the ancient\\nschool but he had unluckily assorted himself with a little", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0231.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "196 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nromping girl from boarding-school, who by her wild vivacity\\nkept him continually on the stretch and defeated all his sober\\nattempts at elegance such are the ill-sorted matches to which\\nantique gentlemen are unfortunately prone.\\nThe young Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out one of his\\nmaiden aunts, on whom the rogue played a thousand little\\nknaveries with impunity he was full of practical jokes, and\\nhis delight was to tease his aunts and cousins, yet, like all mad-\\ncap youngsters, he was a universal favorite among the women.\\nThe most interesting couple in the dance was the young officer\\nand a ward of the squire s, a beautiful blushing girl of seventeen.\\nFrom several shy glances which I had noticed in the course of\\nthe evening I suspected there was a little kindness growing up\\nbetween them and indeed the young soldier was just the hero to\\ncaptivate a romantic girl. He was tall, slender, and handsome,\\nand, like most young British officers of late years, had picked\\nup various small accomplishments on the Continent he could\\ntalk French and Italian, draw landscapes, sing very tolerably,\\ndance divinely but, above all, he had been wounded at Water-\\nloo. What girl of seventeen, well read in poetry and romance,\\ncould resist such a mirror of chivalry and perfection\\nThe moment the dance was over be caught up a guitar,\\nand, lolling against the old marble fireplace in an attitude which\\nI am half inclined to suspect was studied, began the little French\\nair of the Troubadour. The squire, however, exclaimed against\\nhaving anything on Christmas Eve but good old English upon\\nwhich the young minstrel, casting up his eye for a moment as\\nif in an effort of memory, struck into another strain, and with\\na charming air of gallantry gave Herrick s Mght-Piece tc\\nJulia\\nHer eyes the glow-worm lend thee,\\nThe shooting ^tars attend thee,\\nAnd the elves also,\\nWhose little eyes glow\\nLike the sparks of fire, befriend thee.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0232.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS EVE 197\\nNo Will o the Wisp ruislight thee\\nNor snake nor slow-worm bite 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 number\\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 into thee.\\nThe song might or might not have been intended in compli-\\nment to the fair Julia, for so I found his partner was called\\nshe, however, was certainly unconscious of any such application,\\nfor she never looked at the singer, but kept her eyes cast upon\\nthe floor. Her face was suffused, it is true, with a beautiful\\nblush, and there was a gentle heaving of the bosom, but all that\\nwas doubtless caused by the exercise of the dance indeed, so\\ngreat was her indifference that she amused herself with plucking\\nto pieces a choice bouquet of hot-house flowers, and by the time\\nthe song was concluded the nosegay lay in ruins on the floor.\\nThe party now broke up for the night with the kind-hearted\\neld custom of shaking hands. As I passed through the hall on\\nmy way to my chamber, the dying embers of the Yule clog still\\nsent forth a dusky glow, and had it not been the season when\\nno spirit dares stir abroad, I should have been half tempted\\nto steal from my room at midnight and peep whether the fairies\\nmight not be at their revels about the hearth.\\nMy chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the ponder-\\nous furniture of which might have been fabricated in the days\\nof the giants. The room was panelled, with cornices of heavy", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0233.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "198 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ncarved work, in which flowers and grotesque faces were strangely\\nintermingled, and a row of black-looking portraits stared mourn-\\nfully at me from the walls. The bed was of rich though faded\\ndamask, with a lofty tester, and stood in a niche opposite a bow\\nwindow. I had scaiccry got into bed when a strain of music\\nseemed to break forth in the air just below the window. I\\nlistened, and found it proceeded from a band which I concluded\\nto be the Waits from some neighboring village. They went\\nround the house, playing under the windows. I drew aside the\\ncurtains to hear them more distinctly. The moonbeams fell\\nthrough the upper part of the casement partially lighting up\\nthe antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded, be-\\ncame more soft and aerial, and seemed to accord with the quiet\\nand moonlight. I listened and listened they became more\\nand more tender and remote, and, as they gradually died away,\\nmy head sunk upon the pillow and I fell asleep.\\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 if all the\\nevents of the preceding evening had been a dream, and nothing\\nbut the identity of the ancient chamber convinced me of their\\nreality. While I lay musing on my pillow I heard the sound\\nof little feet pattering outside of the door, and a whispering", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0234.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS DAY 199\\nconsultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted forth\\nan old Christmas carol, the burden of which was\\nRejoice, our Saviour he was born\\nOn Christmas Day in the morning.\\nI rose softly, slipt on my clothes, opened the door suddenly,\\nand beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a\\npainter could imagine. It consisted of a boy and two girls,\\nthe eldest not more than six, and lovely as seraphs. They were\\ngoing the rounds of the house and singing at every chamber\\ndoor, but my sudden appearance frightened them into mute\\nbashfulness. They remained for a moment playing on their\\nlips with their fingers, and now and then stealing a shy glance\\nfrom under their eyebrows, until, as if by one impulse, they\\nscampered away, and as they turned an angle of the gallery I\\nheard them laughing in triumph at their escape.\\nEverything conspired to produce kind and happy feelings in\\nthis stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The window of\\nmy chamber looked out upon what in summer would have been\\na beautiful landscape. There was a sloping lawn, a fine stream\\nwinding at the foot of it, and a tract of park beyond, with\\nnoble clumps of trees and herds of deer. At a distance was a\\nneat hamlet, with the smoke from the cottage chimneys hang-\\ning over it, and a church with its dark spire in strong relief\\nagainst the clear cold sky. The house was surrounded with\\nevergreens, according to the English custom, which would have\\ngiven almost an appearance of summer but the morning was\\nextremely frosty the light vapor of the preceding evening\\nhad been precipitated by the cold, and covered all the trees and\\nevery blade of grass with its fine crystallizations. The rays of\\na bright morning sun had a dazzling effect among the glittering\\nfoliage. A robin, perched upon the top of a mountain-ash that\\nhung its clusters of red berries just before my window, was\\nbasking himself in the sunshine and piping a few querulous", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0235.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "200 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nnotes, and a peacock was displaying all the glories of his train\\nand strutting with the pride and gravity of a Spanish grandee\\non the terrace walk below.\\nI had scarcely dressed myself when a servant appeared to\\ninvite me to family prayers. He showed me the way to a\\nsmall chapel in the old wing of the house, where I found the\\nprincipal part of the family already assembled in a kind of\\ngallery furnished with cushions, hassocks, and large prayer-\\nbooks the servants were seated on benches below. The old\\ngentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery, and\\nMaster Simon acted as clerk and made the responses and I\\nmust do him the justice to say that he acquitted himself with\\ngreat gravity and decorum.\\nThe service was followed by a Christmas carol, which Mr.\\nBracebridge himself had constructed from a poem of his favorite\\nauthor, Herrick, and it had been adapted to an old church mel-\\nody by Master Simon. As there were several good voices\\namong the household, the effect was extremely pleasing, but I\\nwas particularly gratified by the exaltation of heart and sudden\\nsally of grateful feeling with which the worthy squire delivered\\none stanza, his eye glistening and his voice rambling out of all\\nthe bounds of time and tune\\nTis Thou that crown st my glittering hearth\\nWith guiltlesse mirth,\\nAnd givest me Wassaile bowles to drink\\nSpiced to the brink\\nLord, tis Thy plenty-dropping hand\\nThat soiles my land\\nAnd giv st me for my bushell sowne,\\nTwice ten for one.\\nI afterwards understood that early morning service was read\\non every Sunday and saint s day throughout the year, either\\nby Mr. Bracebridge or by some member of the family. It was\\nonce almost universally the case at the seats of the nobility and\\ngentry of England, and it is much to be regretted that the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0236.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS DAY 201\\ncustom is falling into neglect for the dullest observer must be\\nsensible of the order and serenity prevalent in those households\\nwhere the occasional exercise of a beautiful form of worship in\\nthe morning gives, as it were, the keynote to every temper for\\nthe day and attunes every spirit to harmony.\\nOur breakfast consisted of what the squire denominated true\\nold English fare. He indulged in some bitter lamentations\\nover modern breakfasts of tea and toast, which he censured as\\namong the causes of modern effeminacy and weak nerves and\\nthe decline of old English heartiness and, though he admitted\\nthem to his table to suit the palates of his guests, yet there\\nwas a brave display of cold meats, wine, and ale on the side-\\nboard.\\nAfter breakfast I walked about the grounds with Frank\\nBracebridge and Master Simon, or Mr. Simon, as he was called\\nby everybody but the squire. We were escorted by a number\\nof gentlemanlike dogs, that seemed loungers about the establish-\\nment, from the frisking spaniel to the steady old stag-hound,\\nthe last of which was of a race that had been in the family\\ntime out of mind they were all obedient to a dog-whistle\\nwhich hung to Master Simon s buttonhole, and in the midst of\\ntheir gambols would glance an eye occasionally upon a small\\nswitch he carried in his hand.\\nThe old mansion had a still more venerable look in the yellow\\nsunshine than by pale moonlight and I could not but feel the\\nforce of the squire s idea that the formal terraces, heavily\\nmoulded balustrades, and clipped yew trees carried with them\\nan air of proud aristocracy. There appeared to be an unusual\\nnumber of peacocks about the place, and I was making some\\nremarks upon what I termed a flock of them that were basking\\nunder a sunny wall, when I was gently corrected in my phrase-\\nology by Master Simon, who told me that according to the\\nmost ancient and approved treatise on hunting I must say a\\nmuster of peacocks. In the same way, added he, with a", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0237.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "202 THE SKETCH BOOR\\nslight air of pedantry, we say a flight of doves or swallows, a\\nbevy of quails, a herd of deer, of wrens, or cranes, a skulk of\\nfoxes, or a building of rooks. He went on to inform me that,\\naccording to Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, we ought to ascribe to\\nthis bird both understanding and glory for, being praised,\\nhe will presently set up his tail, chiefly against the sun, to the\\nintent you may the better behold the beauty thereof. But at\\nthe fall of the leaf, when his tail falleth, he will mourn and\\nhide himself in corners till his tail come again as it was.\\nI could not help smiling at this display of small erudition\\non so whimsical a subject but I found that the peacocks were\\nbirds of some consequence at the hall, for Frank Bracebridge\\ninformed me that they were great favorites with his father, who\\nwas extremely careful to keep up the breed partly because\\nthey belonged to chivalry, and were in great request at the\\nstately banquets of the olden time, and partly because they had\\na pomp and magnificence about them highly becoming an old\\nfamily mansion. Nothing, he was accustomed to say, had an\\nair of greater state and dignity than a peacock perched upon\\nan antique stone balustrade.\\nMaster Simon had now to hurry off, having an appointment\\nat the parish church with the village choristers, who were to\\nperform some music of his selection. There was something ex-\\ntremely agreeable in the cheerful flow of animal spirits of the\\nlittle man and I confess I had been somewhat surprised at his\\napt quotations from authors who certainly were not in the range\\nof e very-day reading. I mentioned this last circumstance to\\nFrank Bracebridge, who told me with a smile that Master Simon s\\nwhole stock of erudition was confined to some half a dozen old\\nauthors, which the squire had put into his hands, and which he\\nread over and over whenever he had a studious fit, as he some-\\ntimes had on a rainy day or a long winter evening. Sir Anthony\\nFitzherbert s Booh of Husbandry, Markham s Country Con-\\ntentments, the Tretyse of Hunting, by Sir Thomas Cockayne,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0238.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS DAY 203\\nKnight, Isaac Walton s Angler, and two or three more such\\nancient worthies of the pen were his standard authorities and,\\nlike all men who know but a few books, he looked up to them\\nwith a kind of idolatry and quoted them on all occasions. As\\nto his songs, they were chiefly picked out of old books in the\\nsquire s library, and adapted to tunes that were popular among\\nthe choice spirits of the last century. His practical application\\nof scraps of literature, however, had caused him to be looked\\nupon as a prodigy of book-knowledge by all the grooms, hunts-\\nmen, and small sportsmen of the neighborhood.\\nWhile we were talking we heard the distant toll of the vil-\\nlage bell, and I was told that the squire was a little particular\\nin having his household at church on a Christmas morning, con-\\nsidering it a day of pouring out of thanks and rejoicing for, as\\nold 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 Frank Brace-\\nbridge, I can promise you a specimen of my cousin Simon s\\nmusical achievements. As the church is destitute of an organ,\\nhe has formed a band from the village amateurs, and established\\na musical club for their improvement he has also sorted a\\nchoir, as he sorted my father s pack of hounds, according to the\\ndirections of Jervaise Markham in his Country Contentments\\nfor the bass he has sought out all the deep, solemn mouths,\\nand for the tenor the loud-ringing mouths, among the country\\nbumpkins, and for sweet-mouths, he has culled with curious\\ntaste among the prettiest lasses in the neighborhood; though\\nthese last, he affirms, are the most difficult to keep in tune,\\nyour pretty female singer being exceedingly wayward and capri-\\ncious, and very liable to accident.\\nAs the morning, though frosty, was remarkably fine and clear,\\nthe most of the family walked to the church, which was a very", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0239.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "204 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nold building of gray stone, and stood near a village about halt\\na mile from the park gate. Adjoining it was a low snug par-\\nsonage which seemed coeval with the church. The front of it\\nwas perfectly matted with a yew tree that had been trained\\nagainst its walls, through the dense foliage of which apertures\\nhad been formed to admit light into the small antique lattices.\\nAs we passed this sheltered nest the parson issued forth and\\npreceded us.\\nI had expected to see a sleek well -conditioned pastor, such as\\nis often found in a snug living in the vicinity of a rich patron s\\ntable, but I was disappointed. The parson was a little, meagre,\\nblack-looking man, with a grizzled wig that was too wide and\\nstood off from each ear so that his head seemed to have shrunk\\naway within it, like a dried filbert in its shell. He wore a rusty\\ncoat, with great skirts and pockets that would have held the\\nchurch Bible and prayer-book and his small legs seemed still\\nsmaller from being planted in large shoes decorated with enor-\\nmous buckles.\\nI was informed by Frank Bracebridge that the parson had\\nbeen a chum of his father s at Oxford, and had received this liv-\\ning shortly after the latter had come to his estate. He was a\\ncomplete black-letter hunter, and would scarcely read a work\\nprinted in the Koman character. The editions of Caxton and\\nWynkyn de Worde were his delight, and he was indefatigable in\\nhis researches after such old English writers as have fallen into\\noblivion from their worthlessness. In deference, perhaps, to the\\nnotions of Mr. Bracebridge he had made diligent investigations\\ninto the festive rites and holiday customs of former times, and\\nhad been as zealous in the inquiry as if he had been a boon\\ncompanion but it was merely with that plodding spirit with\\nwhich men of adust temperament follow up any track of study,\\nmerely because it is denominated learning indifferent to its in-\\ntrinsic nature, whether it be the illustration of the wisdom or of\\nthe ribaldry and obscenity of antiquity. He had pored over these", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0240.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS DAY 205\\nold volumes so intensely that they seemed to have been reflected\\ninto his countenance which, if the face be indeed an index of\\nthe mind, might be compared to a title-page of black-letter.\\nOn reaching the church-porch we found the parson rebuking\\nthe gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe among the\\ngreens with which the church was decorated. It was, he ob-\\nserved, an unholy plant, profaned by having been used by the\\nDruids in their mystic ceremonies and, though it might be-\\ninnocently employed in the festive ornamenting of halls and\\nkitchens, yet it had been deemed by the Fathers of the Church\\nas unhallowed and totally unfit for sacred purposes. So tena-\\ncious was he on this point that the poor sexton was obliged to\\nstrip down a great part of the humble trophies of his taste\\nbefore the parson would consent to enter upon the service of\\nthe day.\\nThe interior of the church was venerable, but simple on the\\nwalls were several mural monuments of the Bracebridges, and\\njust beside the altar was a tomb of ancient workmanship, on\\nwhich lay the effigy of a warrior in armor with his legs crossed,\\na sign of his having been a crusader. I was told it was one of\\nthe family who had signalized himself in the Holy Land, and\\nthe same whose picture hung over the fireplace in the hall.\\nDuring service Master Simon stood up in the pew and re-\\npeated the responses very audibly, evincing that kind of cere-\\nmonious devotion punctually observed by a gentleman of the\\nold school and a man of old family connections. I observed\\ntoo that he turned over the leaves of a folio prayer-book with\\nsomething of a flourish possibly to show off an enormous seal-\\nring which enriched one of his fingers and which had the look of\\na family relic. But he was evidently most solicitous about the\\nmusical part of the service, keeping his eye fixed intently on the\\nchoir, and beating time with much gesticulation and emphasis.\\nThe orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a most\\nwhimsical grouping of heads piled one above the other, among", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0241.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "206 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwhich I particularly noticed that of the village tailor, a pale\\nfellow with a retreating forehead and chin, who played on the\\nclarinet, and seemed to have blown his face to a point and\\nthere was another, a short pursy man, stooping and laboring at\\na bass-viol, so as to show nothing but the top of a round bald\\nhead, like the egg of an ostrich. There were two or three\\npretty faces among the female singers, to which the keen air el\\na frosty morning had given a bright rosy tint but the gentle-\\nmen choristers had evidently been chosen, like old Cremona fid-\\ndles, more for tone than looks and as several had to sing from\\nthe same book, there were clusterings of odd physiognomies not\\nunlike those groups of cherubs we sometimes see on country\\ntombstones.\\nThe usual services of the choir were managed tolerably well,\\nthe vocal parts generally lagging a little behind the instrumen-\\ntal, and some loitering fiddler now and then making up for lost\\ntime by travelling over a passage with prodigious celerity and\\nclearing more bars than the keenest fox-hunter to be in at the\\ndeath. But the great trial was an anthem that had been pre-\\npared and arranged by Master Simon, and on which he had\\nfounded great expectation. Unluckily, there was a blunder at\\nthe very outset the musicians became flurried Master Simon\\nwas in a fever everything went on lamely and irregularly until\\nthey came to a chorus beginning, Now let us sing with one\\naccord, which seemed to be a signal for parting company all\\nbecame discord and confusion each shifted for himself, and got\\nto the end as well or, rather, as soon as he could, except-\\ning one old chorister in a pair of horn spectacles bestriding and\\npinching a long sonorous nose, who happened to stand a little\\napart, and, being wrapped up in his own melody, kept on a\\nquavering course, wriggling his head, ogling his book, and wind-\\ning all up by a nasal solo of at least three bars duration.\\nThe parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the rites and\\nceremonies of Christmas, and the propriety of observing it not", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0242.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS DAT 207\\nmerely as a day of thanksgiving but of rejoicing, supporting the\\ncorrectness of his opinions by the earliest usages of the Church\\nand enforcing them by the authorities of Theophilus of Csesarea,\\nSt. Cyprian, St. Chrysostom, St. Augustine, and a cloud more\\nof saints and fathers, from whom he made copious quotations.\\nI was a little at a loss to perceive the necessity of such a\\nmighty array of forces to maintain a point which no one present\\nseemed inclined to dispute but I soon found that the good\\nman had a legion of ideal adversaries to contend with, having\\nin the course of his researches on the subject of Christmas got\\ncompletely embroiled in the sectarian controversies of the\\nRevolution, when the Puritans made such a fierce assault upon\\nthe ceremonies of the Church, and poor old Christmas was\\ndriven out of the land by proclamation of Parliament. The\\nworthy parson lived but with times past, and knew but little of\\nthe present.\\nShut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retirement of his\\nantiquated little study, the pages of old times were to him as\\nthe gazettes of the day, while the era of the Revolution was\\nmere modern history. He forgot that nearly two centuries had\\nelapsed since the fiery persecution of poor mince-pie through-\\nout the land: when plum porridge was denounced as mere\\npopery, and roast beef as anti-christian, and that Christmas\\nhad been brought in again triumphantly with the merry court\\nof King Charles at the Restoration. He kindled into warmth\\nwith the ardor of his contest and the host of imaginary foes\\nwith whom he had to combat he had a stubborn conflict with\\nold Prynne and two or three other forgotten champions of the\\nRound Heads on the subject of Christmas festivity and con-\\ncluded by urging his hearers, in the most solemn and affecting\\nmanner, to stand to the traditional customs of their fathers and\\nleast and make merry on this joyful anniversary of the Church.\\nI have seldom known a sermon attended apparently with\\naaore immediate effects, for on leaving the church the congrega-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0243.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "208 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ntion seemed one and all possessed with the gayety of spirit sa\\nearnestly enjoined by their pastor. The elder folks gathered\\nin knots in the churchyard, greeting and shaking hands,\\nand the children ran about crying Ule Ule and repeat-\\ning some uncouth rhymes, which the parson, who had\\njoined us, informed me had been handed down from days of\\nyore. The villagers doffed their hats to the squire as he\\npassed, giving him the good wishes of the season with every\\nappearance of heartfelt sincerity, and were invited by him to\\nthe hall to take something to keep out the cold of the weather\\nand I heard blessings uttered by several of the poor, which\\nconvinced me that, in the midst of his enjoyments, the worthy\\nold cavalier had not forgotten the true Christmas virtue of\\ncharity.\\nOn our way homeward his heart seemed overflowed with\\ngenerous and happy feelings. As we passed over a rising\\nground which commanded something of a prospect, the sounds\\nof rustic merriment now and then reached our ears the squire\\npaused for a few moments and looked around with an air of in-\\nexpressible benignity. The beauty of the day was of itself\\nsufficient to inspire philanthropy. Notwithstanding the frosti-\\nness of the morning the sun in his cloudless journey had acquired\\nsufficient power to melt away the thin covering of snow from\\nevery southern declivity, and to bring out the living green which\\nadorns an English landscape even in mid-winter. Large tracts\\nof smiling verdure contrasted with the dazzling whiteness of the\\nshaded slopes and hollows. Every sheltered bank on which the\\nbroad rays rested yielded its silver rill of cold and limpid water,\\nglittering through the dripping grass, and sent up slight exhala-\\ntions to contribute to the thin haze that hung just above\\nthe surface of the earth. There was something truly cheering\\nin this triumph of warmth and verdure over the frosty thral-\\ndom of winter it was, as the squire observed, an emblem of\\n(Christmas hospitality breaking through the chills of ceremony", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0244.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS DAY 2W\\nand selfishness and thawing every heart into a flow. He pointed\\nwith pleasure to the indications of good cheer reeking from the\\nchimneys of the comfortable farm-houses and low thatched cot-\\ntages. I love, said he, to see this day well kept by rich\\nand poor it is a great thing to have one day in the year, at\\nleast, when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, and\\nof having, as it were, the world all thrown open to you and I\\nam almost disposed to join with Poor Kobin in his malediction\\non every churlish enemy to this honest festival\\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 decay of the\\ngames and amusements which were once prevalent at this season\\namong the lower orders and countenanced by the higher, when\\nthe old halls of castles and manor-houses were thrown open\\nat daylight when the tables were covered with brawn and\\nbeef and humming ale when the harp and the carol resounded\\nall day long and when rich and poor were alike welcome to\\nenter and make merry. Our old games and local customs,\\nsaid he, had a great effect in making the peasant fond of his\\nhome, and the promotion of them by the gentry made him fond\\nof his lord. They made the times merrier and kinder and\\nbetter, and 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.\\nThe nation, continued he, is altered; we have almost\\nlost our simple true-hearted peasantry. They have broken\\nasunder from the higher classes, and seem to think their inter-\\nests are separate. They have become too knowing, and begin to", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0245.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "210 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nread newspapers, listen to ale-house politicians, and talk of re-\\nform. I think one mode to keep them in good-humor in these\\nhard times would be for the nobility and gentry to pass more\\ntime on their estates, mingle more among the country-people,\\nand set the merry old English games going again.\\nSuch was the good squire s project for mitigating public dis-\\ncontent and, indeed, he had once attempted to put his doctrine\\nin practice, and a few years before had kept open house during\\nthe holidays in the old style. The country-people, however, did\\nnot understand how to play their parts in the scene of hospitality;\\nmany uncouth circumstances occurred the manor was overrun\\nby all the vagrants of the country, and more beggars drawn into\\nthe neighborhood in one week than the parish officers could get\\nrid of in a year. Since then he had contented himself with\\ninviting the decent part of the neighboring peasantry to call at\\nthe hall on Christmas Day, and with distributing beef, and\\nbread, and ale among the poor, that they might make merry in\\ntheir own dwellings.\\nWe had not been long home when the sound of music was\\nheard from a distance. A band of country lads, without coats,\\ntheir shirt-sleeves fancifully tied with ribbons, their hats deco-\\nrated with greens, and clubs in their hands, was seen advancing\\nup the avenue, followed by a large number of villagers and\\npeasantry. They stopped before the hall door, where the music\\nstruck up a peculiar air, and the lads performed a curious and\\nintricate dance, advancing, retreating, and striking their clubs\\ntogether, keeping exact time to the music while one, whimsi-\\ncally crowned with a fox s skin, the tail of which flaunted down\\nhis back, kept capering round the skirts of the dance and rat-\\ntling a Christmas box with many antic gesticulations.\\nThe squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great interest\\nand delight, and gave me a full account of its origin, which he\\ntraced to the times when the Romans held possession of the\\nisland, plainly proving that this was a lineal descendant of the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0246.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "CHRISTMAS DAY 211\\nsword dance of the ancients. It was now, he said, nearly\\nextinct, but he had accidentally met with traces of it in the\\nneighborhood, and had encouraged its revival; though, to tell\\nthe truth, it was too apt to be followed up by the rough cudgel\\nplay and broken heads in the evening.\\nAfter the dance was concluded the whole party was enter-\\ntained with brawn and beef and stout home-brewed. The\\nsquire himself mingled among the rustics, and was received\\nwith awkward demonstrations of deference and regard. It is\\ntrue I perceived two or three of the younger peasants, as they\\nwere raising their tankards to their mouths, when the squire s\\nback was turned making something of a grimace, and giving\\neach other the wink but the moment they caught my eye they\\npulled grave faces and were exceedingly demure. With Master\\nSimon, however, they all seemed more at their ease. His varied\\noccupations and amusements had made him well known through-\\nout the neighborhood. He was a visitor at every farm-house\\nand cottage, gossiped with the farmers and their wives, romped\\nwith their daughters, and, like that type of a vagrant bachelor,\\nthe humblebee, tolled the sweets from all the rosy lips of the\\ncountry round.\\nThe bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before good\\ncheer and affability. There is something genuine and affection-\\nate in the gayety of the lower orders when it is excited by the\\nbounty and familiarity of those above them the warm glow of\\ngratitude enters into their mirth, and a kind word or small\\npleasantry frankly uttered by a patron gladdens the heart of\\nthe dependant more than oil and wine. When the squire had\\nretired the merriment increased and there was much joking and\\nlaughter, particularly between Master Simon and a hale, ruddy-\\nfaced, white-headed farmer who appeared to be the wit of the\\nvillage for I observed all his companions to wait with open\\nmouths for his retorts, and burst into a gratuitous laugh before\\nthey could well understand them.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0247.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "212 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nThe whole house indeed seemed abandoned to merriment as\\nI passed to my room to dress for dinner, I heard the sound of\\nmusic in a small court, and, looking through a window that com-\\nmanded it, I perceived a band of wandering musicians with\\npandean pipes and tambourine; a pretty coquettish housemaid\\nwas dancing a jig with a smart country lad, while several of the\\nother servants were looking on. In the midst of her sport\\nthe girl caught a glimpse of my face at the window, and, color-\\ning up, ran off with an air of roguish affected confusion.\\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 oar 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 le bury t in a Christmas pye,\\nAnd evermore be merry.\\nWithers* Juvenilia.\\nI had finished my toilet, and was loitering with Frank\\nBracebridge in the library, when we heard a distant thwacking\\nsound, which he informed me was a signal for the serving up of\\nthe dinner. The squire kept up old customs in kitchen as well\\nas hall, and the rolling-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.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0248.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 213\\nThe dinner was served up in the great hall, where the squire\\nalways held his Christmas banquet. A blazing crackling fire\\nof logs had been heaped on to warm the spacious apartment,\\nand the flame went sparkling and wreathing up the wide-\\nmouthed chimney. The great picture of the crusader and his\\nwhite horse had been profusely decorated with greens for the\\noccasion, and holly and ivy had likewise been wreathed round\\nthe helmet and weapons on the opposite wall, which I under-\\nstood were the arms of the same warrior. I must own, by the\\nby, I had strong doubts about the authenticity of the painting\\nand armor as having belonged to the crusader, they certainly\\nhaving the stamp of more recent days j but I was told that the\\npainting had been so considered time out of mind and that as to\\nthe armor, it had been found in a lumber-room and elevated to its\\npresent situation by the squire, who at once determined it to be\\nthe armor of the family hero and as he was absolute authority\\non all such subjects in his own household, the matter had\\npassed into current acceptation. A sideboard was set out just\\nunder this chivalric trophy, on which was a display of plate\\nthat might have vied (at least in variety) with Belshazzar s\\nparade of the vessels of the temple flagons, cans, cups,\\nbeakers, goblets, basins, and ewers, the gorgeous utensils of\\ngood companionship that had gradually accumulated through\\nmany generations of jovial housekeepers. Before these stooa\\nthe two Yule candles, beaming like two stars of the first magni-\\ntude other lights were distributed in branches, and the whole\\narray glittered like a firmament of silver.\\nWe were ushered into this banqueting scene with the sound\\nof minstrelsy, the old harper being seated on a stool beside the\\nfireplace and twanging his instrument with a vast deal more\\npower than melody. Never did Christinas board display a\\nmore goodly and gracious assemblage of countenances those\\nwho were not handsome were at least happy, and happiness is a\\nrare improver of your hard-favored visage. I always consider", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0249.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "214 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nan old English family as well worth studying as a collection of\\nHolbein s portraits or Albert Diirer s prints. There is much\\nantiquarian lore to be acquired, much knowledge of the physi-\\nognomies of former times. Perhaps it may be from having\\ncontinually before their eyes those rows of old family portraits,\\nwith which the mansions of this country are stocked certain it\\nis that the quaint features of antiquity are often most faithfully\\nperpetuated in these ancient lines, and I have traced an old\\nfamily nose through a whole picture-gallery, legitimately handed\\ndown from generation to generation almost from the time of the\\nConquest. Something of the kind was to be observed in the\\nworthy company around me. Many of their faces had evidently\\noriginated in a Gothic age, and been merely copied by succeed-\\ning generations; and there was one little girl in particular,\\nof staid demeanor, with a high Roman nose and an antique\\nvinegar aspect, who was a great favorite of the squire s,\\nbeing, as he said, a Bracebridge all over, and the very\\ncounterpart of one of his ancestors who figured in the court\\nof Henry VIII.\\nThe parson said grace, which was not a short familiar one,\\nsuch as is commonly addressed to the Deity in these unceremo-\\nnious days, but a long, courtly, well-worded one of the ancient\\nschool. There was now a pause, as if something was expected,\\nwhen suddenly the butler entered the hall with some degree of\\nbustle he was attended by a servant on each side with a large\\nwax-light, and bore a silver dish on which was an enormous\\npig s head decorated with rosemary, with a lemon in its mouth,\\nwhich was placed with great formality at the head of the table.\\nThe moment this pageant made its appearance the harper struck\\nup a flourish at the conclusion of which the young Oxonian,\\non receiving a hint from the squire, gave, with an air of the\\nmost comic gravity, an old carol, the first verse of which was as\\nfollows", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0250.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "THE CHRISTMAS DIN NEK 215\\nCaput apri defero\\nReddens laudes Domino,\\nThe boar s head in hand bring I,\\nWith garlands gay and rosemary.\\nI pray you all synge merily\\nQui estis in convivio.\\nThough prepared to witness many of these little eccentricities,\\nfrom being apprised of the peculiar hobby of mine host, yet I\\nconfess the parade with which so odd a dish was introduced\\nsomewhat perplexed me, until I gathered from the conversation\\nof the squire and the parson that it was meant to represent the\\nbringing in of the boar s head, a dish formerly served up with\\nmuch ceremony and the sound of minstrelsy and song at great\\ntables on Christmas Day. I like the old custom, said the\\nsquire, not merely because it is stately and pleasing in itself,\\nbut because it was observed at the college at Oxford at which\\nI was educated. When I hear the old song chanted it brings\\nto mind the time when I was young and gamesome, and the\\nnoble old college hall, and my fellow -students loitering about in\\ntheir black gowns many of whom, poor lads are now in their\\ngraves.\\nThe parson, however, whose mind was not haunted by such\\nassociations, and who was always more taken up with the text\\nthan the sentiment, objected to the Oxonian s version of the\\ncarol, which he affirmed was different from that sung at college.\\nHe went on, with the dry perseverance of a commentator, to\\ngive the college reading, accompanied by sundry annotations,\\naddressing himself at first to the company at large but, find-\\ning their attention gradually diverted to other talk and other\\nobjects, he lowered his tone as his number of auditors diminished,\\nuntil he concluded his remarks in an under voice to a fat-headed\\nold gentleman next him who was silently engaged in the discus-\\nsion of a huge plateful of turkey.\\nThe table was literally loaded with good cheer, and presented\\nan epitome of country abundance in this season of overflowing", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0251.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "216 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nlarders. A distinguished post was allotted to ancient sirloin\\nas mine host termed it, being, as he added, the standard of\\nold English hospitality, and a joint of goodly presence, and full\\nof expectation. There were several dishes quaintly decorated,\\nand which had evidently something traditional in their embel-\\nlishments, but about which, as I did not like to appear over-\\ncurious, I asked no questions.\\nI could not, however, but notice a pie magnificently deco-\\nrated with peacock s feathers, in imitation of the tail of that\\nbird, which overshadowed a considerable tract of the table.\\nThis, the squire confessed with some little hesitation, was a\\npheasant pie, though a peacock pie was certainly the most\\nauthentical but there had been such a mortality among the\\npeacocks this season that he could not prevail upon himself to\\nhave one killed.\\nIt would be tedious, perhaps, to my wiser readers, who may\\nnot have that foolish fondness for odd and obsolete things to\\nwhich I am a little given, were I to mention the other make-\\nshifts of this worthy old humorist, by which he was endeavor-\\ning to follow up, though at humble distance, the quaint customs\\nof antiquity. I was pleased, however, to see the respect shown\\nto his whims by his children and relatives who, indeed, en-\\ntered readily into the full spirit of them, and seemed all well\\nversed in their parts, having doubtless been present at many a\\nrehearsal. I was amused, too, at the air of profound gravity\\nwith which the butler and other servants executed the duties\\nassigned them, however eccentric. They had an old-fashioned\\nlook, having, for the most part, been brought up in the house-\\nhold and grown into keeping with the antiquated mansion and\\nthe humors of its lord, and most probably looked upon all his\\nwhimsical regulations as the established laws of honorable\\nhousekeeping.\\nWhen the cloth was removed the butler brought in a huge\\nsilver vessel of rare and curious workmanship, which he placed", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0252.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 217\\nbefore the squire. Its appearance was hailed with acclamation,\\nbeing the Wassail Bowl,\u00c2\u00b0 so renowned in Christmas festivity.\\nThe contents had been prepared by the squire himself; for it\\nwas a beverage in the skilful mixture of which he particularly\\nprided himself, alleging that it was too abstruse and complex\\nfor the comprehension of an ordinary servant. It was a pota-\\ntion, indeed, that might well make the heart of a toper leap\\nwithin him, being composed of the richest and raciest wines,\\nhighly spiced and sweetened, with roasted apples bobbing about\\nthe surface.\\nThe old gentleman s whole countenance beamed with a serene\\nlook of indwelling delight as he stirred this mighty bowl. Hav-\\ning raised it to his lips, with a hearty wish of a merry Christ-\\nmas to all present, he sent it brimming round the board, for\\nevery one to follow his example, according to the primitive\\nstyle pronouncing it the ancient fountain of good feeling,\\nwhere all hearts met together.\\nThere w r as much laughing and rallying as the honest emblem\\nof Christinas joviality circulated and was kissed rather coyly\\nby the ladies. When it reached Master Simon, he raised it in\\nboth hands, and with the air of a boon companion struck un\\nan old Wassail chanson\\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,\\nSing\\nFling,\\nBe as merry as a king,\\nAnd sound a lusty laugh-a", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0253.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "218 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nMuch of the conversation during dinner turned upon family\\ntopics, to which I was a stranger. There was, however, a great\\ndeal of rallying of Master Simon about some gay widow with\\nwhom he was accused of having a flirtation. This attack was\\ncommenced by the ladies, but it was continued throughout the\\ndinner by the fat-headed old gentleman next the parson with\\nthe persevering assiduity of a slow hound, being one of those\\nlong-winded jokers who, though rather dull at starting game,\\nare unrivalled for their talents in hunting it down. At every\\npause in the general conversation he renewed his bantering in\\npretty much the same terms, winking hard at me with both\\neyes whenever he gave Master Simon what he considered a\\nhome thrust. The latter, indeed, seemed fond of being teased on\\nthe subject, as old bachelors are apt to be, and he took occasion\\nto inform me, in an undertone, that the lady in question was a\\nprodigiously fine woman and drove her own curricle.\\nThe dinner-time passed away in this flow of innocent hilarity,\\nand, though the old hall may have resounded in its time with\\nmany a scene of broader rout and revel, yet I doubt whether it\\never witnessed more honest and genuine enjoyment. How easy\\nit is for one benevolent being to diffuse pleasure around him\\nand how truly is a kind heart a fountain of gladness, making\\neverything in its vicinity to freshen into smiles The joyous\\ndisposition of the worthy squire was perfectly contagious; he\\nwas happy himself, and disposed to make all the world happy,\\nand the little eccentricities of his humor did but season, in a\\nmanner, the sweetness of his philanthropy.\\nWhen the ladies had retired, the conversation, as usual, be-\\ncame still more animated many good things were broached\\nwhich had been thought of during dinner, but which would not\\nexactly do for a lady s ear; and, though I cannot positively\\naffirm that there was much wit uttered, yet I have certainly\\nheard many contests of rare wit produce much less laughter.\\nWit, after all, is a mighty tart, pungent ingredient, and much", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0254.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 219\\ntoo acid for some stomachs but honest good-humor is the oil\\nand wine of a merry meeting, and there is no jovial companion-\\nship equal to that where the jokes are rather small and the\\nlaughter abundant.\\nThe squire told several long stories of early college pranks\\nand adventures, in some of which the parson had been a sharer,\\nthough in looking at the latter it required some effort of imagi-\\nnation to figure such a little dark anatomy of a man into the\\nperpetrator of a madcap gambol. Indeed, the two college\\nchums presented pictures of what men may be made by their\\ndifferent lots in life. The squire had left the university to live\\nlustily on his paternal domains in the vigorous enjoyment of\\nprosperity and sunshine, and had flourished on to a hearty and\\nflorid old age whilst the poor parson, on the contrary, had\\ndried and withered away among dusty tomes in the silence and\\nshadows of his study. Still, there seemed to be a spark of\\nalmost extinguished fire feebly glimmering in the bottom of his\\nsoul and as the squire hinted at a sly story of the parson and\\na pretty milkmaid whom they once met on the banks of the\\nIsis, the old gentleman made an alphabet of faces, which, as\\nfar as I could decipher his physiognomy, I verily believe was\\nindicative of laughter indeed, I have rarely met with an old\\ngentleman that took absolute offence at the imputed gallantries\\nof his youth.\\nI found the tide of wine and wassail fast gaining on the dry\\nland of sober judgment. The company grew merrier and louder\\nas their jokes grew duller. Master Simon was in as chirping\\na humor as a grasshopper filled with dew his old songs grew\\nof a warmer complexion, and he began to talk maudlin about\\nthe widow. He even gave a long song about the wooing of a\\nwidow which he informed me he had gathered from an excel-\\nlent black-letter work entitled Cupid s Solicitor* for Love, con*\\ntaining store of good advice for bachelors, and which he promised\\nto lend me the first verse was to this effect", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0255.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "220 THE SKETCH BOOK\\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.\\nThis song inspired the fat-headed old gentleman, who made\\nseveral attempts to tell a rather broad story out of Joe Miller that\\nwas pat to the purpose but he always stuck in the middle, every-\\nbody recollecting the latter part excepting himself. The parson,\\ntoo, began to show the effects of good cheer, having gradually set-\\ntled down into a doze and his wig sitting most suspiciously on one\\nside. Just at this juncture we were summoned to the drawing-\\nroom, and I suspect, at the private instigation of mine host, whose\\njoviality seemed always tempered with a proper love of decorum.\\nAfter the dinner table was removed the hall was given up to\\nthe younger members of the family, who, prompted to all kind\\nof noisy mirth by the Oxonian and Master Simon, made its old\\nwalls ring with their merriment as they played at romping games.\\nI delight in witnessing the gambols of children, and particularly\\nat this happy holiday season, and could not help stealing out\\nof the drawing-room on hearing one of their peals of laughter.\\nI found them at the game of blindman s-buff. Master Simon,\\nwho was the leader of their revels, and seemed on. all occasions\\nto fulfil the office of that ancient potentate, the Lord of Mis-\\nrule, was blinded in the midst of the hall. The little beings\\nwere as busy about him as the mock fairies about Falstaff,\\npinching him, plucking at the skirts of his coat, and tickling\\nhim with straws. One fine blue-eyed girl of about thirteen,\\nwith her flaxen hair all in beautiful confusion, her frolic face in\\na glow, her frock half torn off her shoulders, a complete pic-\\nture of a romp, was the chief tormentor and, from the slyness\\nwith which Master Simon avoided the smaller game and hemmed\\nthis wild little nymph in corners, and obliged her to jump shriek-\\ning over chairs, I suspected the rogue of being not a whit more\\nblinded than was convenient.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0256.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 221\\nWhen I returned to the drawing-room I found the company\\nseated round the fire listening to the parson, who was deeply\\nensconced in a high-backed oaken chair, the work of some cun-\\nning artificer of yore, which had been brought from the library\\nfor his particular accommodation. From this venerable piece\\nof furniture, with which his shadowy figure and dark weazen\\nface so admirably accorded, he was dealing out strange accounts\\nof the popular superstitions and legends of the surrounding coun-\\ntry, with which he had become acquainted in the course of his\\nantiquarian researches. I am half inclined to think that the\\nold gentleman was himself somewhat tinctured with supersti-\\ntion, as men are very apt to be who live a recluse and studious\\nlife in a sequestered part of the country and pore over black-\\nletter tracts, so often filled with the marvellous and supernatural.\\nHe gave us several anecdotes of the fancies of the neighboring\\npeasantry concerning the effigy of the crusader which lay on the\\ntomb by the church altar. As it was the only monument of\\nthe kind in that part of the country, it had always been regarded\\nwith feelings of superstition by the good wives of the village.\\nIt was said to get up from the tomb and walk the rounds of\\nthe churchyard in stormy nights, particularly when it thundered\\nand one old woman, whose cottage bordered on the churchyard,\\nhad seen it through the windows of the church, when the moon\\nshone, slowly pacing up and down the aisles. It was the belief\\nthat some wrong had been left unredressed by the deceased, or\\nsome treasure hidden, which kept the spirit in a state of trouble\\nand restlessness. Some talked of gold and jewels buried in the\\ntomb, over which the spectre kept watch and there was a\\nstory current of a sexton in old times who endeavored to break\\nhis way to the coffin at night, but just as he reached it received\\na violent blow from the marble hand of the effigy, which stretched\\nhim senseless on the pavement. These tales were often laughed\\nat by some of the sturdier among the rustics, yet when night\\ncame on there were many of the stoutest unbelievers that were", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0257.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "222 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nshy of venturing alone in the footpath that led across the church\\nyard.\\nFrom these and other anecdotes that followed the crusader\\nappeared tc be the favorite hero of ghost-stories throughout the\\nricinity. His picture, which hung up in the hall, was thought by\\nthe servants to have something supernatural about it for they\\nremarked that in whatever part of the hall you went the eyes\\nof the warrior were still fixed on you. The old porter s wife,\\ntoo, at the lodge, who had been born and brought up in the\\nfamily, and was a great gossip among the maid-servants, af-\\nfirmed that in her young days she had often heard say that on\\nMidsummer Eve, when it was well known all kinds of ghosts,\\ngoblins, and fairies become visible and walk abroad, the crusader\\nused to mount his horse, come down from his picture, ride about\\nthe house, down the avenue, and so to the church to visit the\\ntomb; on which occasion the church-door most civilly swung\\nopen of itself; not that he needed it, for he rode through closed\\ngates, and even stone walls, and had been seen by one of the\\ndairymaids to pass between two bars of the great park gate,\\nmaking himself as thin as a sheet of paper.\\nAll these superstitions I found had been very much counte-\\nnanced by the squire, who, though not superstitious himself,\\nwas very fond of seeing others so. He listened to every goblin\\ntale of the neighboring gossips with infinite gravity, and held\\nthe porter s wife in high favor on account of her talent for the\\nmarvellous. He was himself a great reader of old legends and\\nromances, and often lamented that he could not believe in them\\nfor a superstitious person, he thought, must live in a kind of\\nfairy-land.\\nWhilst we were all attention to the parson s stories, our ears\\nwere suddenly assailed by a burst of heterogeneous sounds from\\nthe hall, in which were mingled something like the clang of rude\\nminstrelsy with the uproar of many small voices and girlish\\nlaughter. The door suddenly flew open, and a train came", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0258.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "THE CHRISTMAS DINNER 223\\ntrooping into the room that might almost have been mistaken\\nfor the breaking up of the court of Faery. That indefatigable\\nspirit, Master Simon, in the faithful discharge of his duties as\\nlord of misrule, had conceived the idea of a Christmas mummery\\nor masking; and having called in to his assistance the Ox-\\nonian and the young officer, who were equally ripe for anything\\nthat should occasion romping and merriment, they had carried\\nit into instant effect. The old housekeeper had been consulted\\nthe antique clothespresses and wardrobes rummaged and made\\nto yield up the relics of finery that had not seen the light for\\nseveral generations the younger part of the company had been\\nprivately convened from the parlor and hall, and the whole had\\nbeen bedizened out into a burlesque imitation of an antique\\nmask.\\nMaster Simon led the van, as Ancient Christmas, 7 quaintly\\napparelled in a ruff, a short cloak, which had very much the\\naspect of one of the old housekeeper s petticoats, and a hat that\\nmight have served for a village steeple, and must indubitably\\nhave figured in the days of the Covenanters. From under this\\nhis nose curved boldly forth, flushed with a frost-bitten bloom\\nthat seemed the very trophy of a December blast. He was ac-\\ncompanied by the blue-eyed romp, dished up, as Dame Mince\\nPie, in the venerable magnificence of a faded brocade, long\\nstomacher, peaked hat, and high-heeled shoes. The young\\nofficer appeared as Kobin Hood,\u00c2\u00b0 in a sporting dress of Kendal\\ngreen and a foraging cap with a gold tassel.\\nThe costume, to be sure, did not bear testimony to deep\\nresearch, and there was an evident eye to the picturesque, natu-\\nral to a young gallant in the presence of his mistress. The fair\\nJulia hung on his arm in a pretty rustic dress as Maid\\nMarian. The rest of the train had been metamorphosed in\\nvarious ways the girls trussed up in the finery of the ancient\\nbelles of the Bracebridge line, and the striplings bewhiskered\\nwith burnt cork, and gravely clad in broad skirts, hanging", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0259.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "224 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nsleeves, and full-bottomed wigs, to represent the character of\\nRoast Beef, Plum Pudding, and other worthies celebrated in\\nancient maskings. The whole was under the control of the\\nOxonian in the appropriate character of Misrule; and I ob-\\nserved that he exercised rather a mischievous sway with his\\nwand over the smaller personages of the pageant.\\nThe irruption of this motley crew with beat of drum, ac-\\ncording to ancient custom, was the consummation of uproar\\nand merriment. Master Simon covered himself with glory by\\nthe stateliness with which, as Ancient Christmas, he walked a\\nminuet with the peerless though giggling Dame Mince Pie. It\\nwas followed by a dance of all the characters, which from its\\nmedley of costumes seemed as though the old family portraits\\nhad skipped down from their frames to join in the sport. Dif-\\nferent centuries were figuring at cross hands and right and left\\nthe Dark Ages were cutting pirouettes and rigadoons and the\\ndays of Queen Bess jiggling merrily down the middle through a\\nline of succeeding generations.\\nThe worthy squire contemplated these fantastic sports and\\nthis resurrection of his old wardrobe with the simple relish of\\nchildish delight. He stood chuckling and rubbing his hands,\\nand scarcely hearing a word the parson said, notwithstanding\\nthat the latter was discoursing most authentically on the ancient\\nand stately dance of the Paon, or peacock, from which he con-\\nceived the minuet to be derived. For my part, I was in a\\ncontinual excitement from the varied scenes of whim and\\ninnocent gayety passing before me. It was inspiring to see\\nwild-eyed frolic and warm-hearted hospitality breaking out from\\namong the chills and glooms of winter, and old age throwing\\noff his apathy and catching once more the freshness of youthful\\nenjoyment. I felt also an interest in the scene from the con-\\nsideration that these fleeting customs were posting fast into\\noblivion, and that this was perhaps the only family in England\\nin which the whole of them was still punctiliously observed.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0260.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "LONDON ANTIQUES 225\\nThere was a quaintness, too, mingled wifch all this revelry that\\ngave it a peculiar zest it was suited to the time and place\\nand as the old manor-house almost reeled with mirth and was-\\nsail, it seemed echoing back the joviality of long departed years.\\nBut enough of Christmas and its gambols it is time for me\\nto pause in this garrulity. Methinks I hear the questions\\nasked by my graver readers. To what purpose is all this how\\nis the world to be made wiser by this talk Alas is there\\nnot wisdom enough extant for the instruction of the world?\\nAnd if not, are there not thousands of abler pens laboring for\\nits improvement It is so much pleasanter to please than to\\ninstruct to play the companion rather than the preceptor.\\nWhat, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw\\ninto the mass of knowledge or how am I sure that my sagest\\ndeductions may be safe guides for the opinions of others? But\\nin writing to amuse, if I fail the only evil is in my own disap-\\npointment. If, however, I can by any lucky chance, in these\\ndays of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care or\\nbeguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow if I can now\\nand then penetrate through the gathering film of misanthropy,\\nprompt a benevolent view of human nature, and make my\\nreader more in good-humor with his fellow-beings and himself\\nsurely, surely, I shall not then have written entirely in\\nvain\\nLONDON ANTIQUES\\n1 do walk\\nMethinks like Guido Vaux, with my dark lanthorn.\\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 am fond of ex-\\nploring London in quest of the relics of old times. These are\\nQ", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0261.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "226 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nprincipally to be found in the depths of the city, swallowed up\\nand almost lost in a wilderness of brick and mortar, but deriv-\\ning poetical and romantic interest from the commonplace,\\nprosaic world around them. I was struck with an instance of\\nthe kind in the course of a recent summer ramble into the city\\nfor the city is only to be explored to advantage in summer-time,\\nwhen free from the smoke and fog and rain and mud of winter.\\nI had been buffeting for some time against the current of popu-\\nlation setting through Fleet street. The warm weather had\\nunstrung my nerves and made me sensitive to every jar and\\njostle and discordant sound. The flesh was weary, the spirit\\nfaint, and I was getting out of humor with the bustling busy\\nthrong through which I had to struggle, when in a fit of des-\\nperation I tore my way through the crowd, plunged into a by-\\nlane, and, after passing through several obscure nooks and\\nangles, emerged into a quaint and quiet court with a grassplot\\nin the centre overhung by elms, and kept perpetually fresh and\\ngreen by a fountain with its sparkling jet of water. A student\\nwith book in hand was seated on a stone bench, partly reading,\\npartly meditating on the movements of two or three trim nursery-\\nmaids with their infant charges.\\nI was like an Arab who had suddenly come upon an oasis\\namid the panting sterility of the desert. By degrees the quiet\\nand coolness of the place soothed my nerves and refreshed my\\nspirit. I pursued my walk, and came, hard by, to a very\\nancient chapel with a low-browed Saxon portal of massive and\\nrich architecture. The interior was circular and lofty and\\nlighted from above. Around were monumental tombs of\\nancient date on which were extended the marble effigies of\\nwarriors in armor. Some had the hands devoutly crossed upon\\nthe breast others grasped the pommel of the sword, menacing\\nhostility even in the tomb, while the crossed legs of several\\nindicated soldiers of the Faith who had been on crusades to the\\nHoly Land,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0262.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "LONDON ANTIQUES 227\\n1 was, in fact, in the chapel of the Knights Templars,\\nstrangely situated in the very centre of sordid traffic and I do\\nnot know a more impressive lesson for the man of the world\\nthan thus suddenly to turn aside from the highway of busy\\nmoney-seeking life, and sit down among these shadowy sepul-\\nchres, where all is twilight, dust, and forgetfulness.\\nIn a subsequent tour of observation I encountered another\\nof these relics of a foregone world locked up in the heart of\\nthe city. I had been wandering for some time through dull\\nmonotonous streets, destitute of anything to strike the eye or\\nexcite the imagination, when I beheld before me a Gothic gateway\\nof mouldering antiquity. It opened into a spacious quadrangle\\nforming the courtyard of a stately Gothic pile, the portal of\\nwhich stood invitingly open.\\nIt was apparently a public edifice, and, as I was antiquity-\\nhunting, I ventured in, though with dubious steps. Meeting\\nno one either to oppose or rebuke my intrusion, I continued on\\nuntil I found myself in a great hall with a lofty arched roof\\nand oaken gallery, all of Gothic architecture. At one end of\\nthe hall was an enormous fireplace, with wooden settles on\\neach side at the other end was a raised platform, or dais, the\\nseat of state, above which was the portrait of a man in antique\\ngarb with a long robe, a ruff, and a venerable gray beard.\\nThe whole establishment had an air of monastic quiet and\\nseclusion, and what gave it a mysterious charm was, that I\\nhad not met with a human being since I had passed the\\nthreshold.\\nEncouraged by this loneliness, I seated myself in a recess of\\na large bow window, which admitted a broad flood of yellow\\nsunshine, checkered here and there by tints from panes of\\ncolored glass, while an open casement let in the soft summer\\nair. Here, leaning my head on my hand and my arm on an\\nold oaken table, I indulged in a sort of reverie about what\\nmight have been the ancient uses of this edifice. It had", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0263.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "228 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nevidently been of monastic origin perhaps one of those col\\nlegiate establishments built of yore for the promotion of learn\\ning, where the patient monk, in the ample solitude of the\\ncloister, added page to page and volume to volume, emulating\\nin the productions of his brain the magnitude of the pile he\\ninhabited.\\nAs I was seated in this musing mood a small panelled door\\nin an arch at the upper end of the hall was opened, and a\\nnumber of gray-headed old men, clad in long black cloaks,\\ncame forth one by one, proceeding in that manner through the\\nhall, without uttering a word, each turning a pale face on me\\nas he passed, and disappearing through a door at the lower\\nend.\\nI was singularly struck with their appearance their black\\ncloaks and antiquated air comported with the style of this\\nmost venerable and mysterious pile. It was as if the ghosts of\\nthe departed years, about which I had been musing, were\\npassing in review before me. Pleasing myself with such\\nfancies, I set out, in the spirit of romance, to explore what I\\npictured to myself a realm of shadows existing in the very\\ncentre of substantial realities.\\nMy ramble led me through a labyrinth of interior courts and\\ncorridors and dilapidated cloisters, for the main edifice had\\nmany additions and dependencies, built at various times and\\nin various styles. In one open space a number of boys, who\\nevidently belonged to the establishment, were at their sports,\\nbut everywhere I observed those mysterious old gray men in\\nblack mantles, sometimes sauntering alone, sometimes convers-\\ning in groups they appeared to be the pervading genii of the\\nplace. I now called to mind what I had read of certain\\ncolleges in old times, where judicial astrology, geomancy, necro-\\nmancy, and other forbidden and magical sciences were taught\\nWas this an establishment of the kind and were these black\\ncloaked old men really professors of the black art", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0264.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "LONDON ANTIQUES 229\\nThese surmises were passing through my mind as my eye\\nglanced into a chamber hung round with all kinds of strange\\nand uncouth objects implements of savage warfare, strange\\nidols and stuffed alligators bottled serpents and monsters\\ndecorated the mantelpiece while on the high tester of an old-\\nfashioned bedstead grinned a human skull, flanked on each\\nside by a dried cat.\\nI approached to regard more narrowly this mystic chamber,\\nwhich seemed a fitting laboratory for a necromancer, when I\\nwas startled at beholding a human countenance staring at me\\nfrom a dusky corner. It was that of a small, shrivelled old\\nman with thin cheeks, bright eyes, and gray, wiry, projecting\\neyebrows. I at first doubted whether it were not a mummy\\ncuriously preserved, but it moved, and I saw that it was alive.\\nIt was another of these black-cloaked old men, and, as I re-\\ngarded his quaint physiognomy, his obsolete garb, and the\\nhideous and sinister objects by which he was surrounded, I\\nbegan to persuade myself that I had come upon the arch-mago\\nwho ruled over this magical fraternity.\\nSeeing me pausing before the door, he rose and invited me to\\nenter. I obeyed with singular hardihood, for how did I know\\nwhether a wave of his wand might not metamorphose me into\\nsome strange monster or conjure me into one of the bottles\\non his mantelpiece He proved, however, to be anything but\\na conjurer, and his simple garrulity soon dispelled all the magic\\nand mystery with which I had enveloped this antiquated pile\\nand its no less antiquated inhabitants.\\nIt appeared that I had made my way into the centre of an\\nancient asylum for superannuated tradesmen and decayed\\nhouseholders, with which was connected a school for a limited\\nnumber of boys. It was founded upwards of two centuries\\nsince on an old monastic establishment, and retained somewhat\\nof the conventual air and character. The shadowy line of old\\nmen in black mantles who had passed before me in the hall, and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0265.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "230 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwhom I had elevated into magi, turned out to be the pen-\\nsioners returning from morning service in the chapel.\\nJohn Hallum, the little collector of curiosities whom I had\\nmade the arch magician, had been for six years a resident of the\\nplace, and had decorated this final nestling-place of his old age\\nwith relics and rarities picked up in the course of his life. Ac-\\ncording to his own account, he had been somewhat of a traveller,\\nhaving been once in France, and very near making a visit to\\nHolland. He regretted not having visited the latter country,\\nas then he might have said he had been there. He was evi-\\ndently a traveller of the simple kind.\\nHe was aristocratical too in his notions, keeping aloof, as I\\nfound, from the ordinary run of pensioners. His chief associates\\nwere a blind man who spoke Latin and Greek, of both which\\nlanguages Hallum was profoundly ignorant, and a broken-down\\ngentleman who had run through a fortune of forty thousand\\npounds left him by his father, and ten thousand pounds, the\\nmarriage portion of his wife. Little Hallum seemed to consider\\nit an indubitable sign of gentle blood as well as of lofty spirit\\nto be able to squander such enormous sums.\\nP. S. The picturesque remnant of old times into which I\\nhave thus beguiled the reader is what is called the Charter\\nHouse, originally the Chartreuse. It was founded in 1611, on\\nthe remains of an ancient convent, by Sir Thomas Sutton, be-\\ning one of those noble charities set on foot by individual munifi-\\ncence, and kept up with the quaintness and sanctity of ancient\\ntimes amidst the modern changes and innovations of London.\\nHere eighty broken-down men, who have seen better days, are\\nprovided in their old age with food, clothing, fuel, and a yearly\\nallowance for private expenses. They dine together, as did the\\nmonks of old, in the hall which had been the refectory of the\\noriginal convent. Attached to the establishment is a school for\\nforty-four boys.\\nStow, whose work I have consulted on the subject, speaking", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0266.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "LONDON ANTIQUES 231\\nof the obligations of the gray-headed pensioners, says, They\\nare not to intermeddle with any business touching the affairs\\nof the hospital, but to attend only to the service of God, and\\ntake thankfully what is provided for them, without muttering,\\nmurmuring, or grudging. None to wear weapon, long hair,\\ncolored boots, spurs, or colored shoes, feathers in their hats, or\\nany ruffian-like or unseemly apparel, but such as becomes hospi-\\ntal-men to wear. And in truth, adds Stow, happy are\\nthey that are so taken from the cares and sorrows of the world,\\nand fixed in so good a place as these old men are; having\\nnothing to care for but the good of their souls, to serve God,\\nand to live in brotherly love.\\nFor the amusement of such as have been interested by the\\npreceding sketch, taken down from my own observation, and\\nwho may wish to know a little more about the mysteries of\\nLondon, I subjoin a modicum of local history put into my hands\\nby an odd-looking old gentleman, in a small brown wig and a\\nsnuff-colored coat, with whom I became acquainted shortly after\\nmy visit to the Charter House. I confess I was a little dubi-\\nous at first whether it was not one of those apocryphal tales\\noften passed off upon inquiring travellers like myself, and which\\nhave brought our general character for veracity into such un-\\nmerited reproach. On making proper inquiries, however, I\\nhave received the most satisfactory assurances of the author s\\nprobity, and indeed have been told that he is actually engaged\\nin a full and particular account of the very interesting region in\\nwhich he resides, of which the following may be considered\\nmerely as a foretaste.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0267.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "232 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nLITTLE BRITAIN\\nWhat I write is most true I have a whole booke of cases lying\\nby me, which if I should sette foorth, some grave auntients (within the\\nhearing of Bow bell) would be out of charity with me.\\nNashe.\\nIn the centre of the great city of London lies a small neigh-\\nborhood, consisting of a cluster of narrow streets and courts, of\\nvery venerable and debilitated houses, which goes by the name\\nof Little Britain. Christ Church School and St. Bartholo-\\nmew s Hospital bound it on the west; Smithfield and Long\\nlane on the north Aldersgate street, like an arm of the sea,\\ndivides it from the eastern part of the city whilst the yawn-\\ning gulf of Bull-and-Mouth street separates it from Butcher lane\\nand the regions of Newgate. Over this little territory, thus\\nbounded and designated, the great dome of St. Paul s, swelling\\nabove the intervening houses of Paternoster Row, Amen Corner,\\nand Ave-Maria lane, looks down with an air of motherly pro-\\ntection.\\nThis quarter derives its appellation from having been, in an-\\ncient times, the residence of the dukes of Brittany. As London\\nincreased, however, rank and fashion rolled off to the west, and\\ntrade, creeping on at their heels, took possession of their de-\\nserted abodes. For some time Little Britain became the great\\nmart of learning, and was peopled by the busy and prolific race\\nof book-sellers these also gradually deserted it, and, emigrating\\nbeyond the great strait of Newgate street, settled down in\\nPaternoster Row and St. Paul s Churchyard, where they con-\\ntinue to increase and multiply even at the present day.\\nBut, though thus fallen into decline, Little Britain still bears\\ntraces of its former splendor. There are several houses ready\\nto tumble down, the fronts of which are magnificently enriched", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0268.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "LITTLE BRITAIN 233\\nwith old oaken carvings of hideous faces, unknown birds, beasts,\\nand fishes, and fruits and flowers which it would perplex a nat-\\nuralist to classify. There are also, in Aldersgate street, certain\\nremains of what were once spacious and lordly family mansions\\nbut which have in latter days been subdivided into several tene-\\nments. Here may often be found the family of a petty trades-\\nman, with its trumpery furniture, burrowing among the relics\\nof antiquated finery in great rambling time-stained apartments\\nwith fretted ceilings, gilded cornices, and enormous marble fire-\\nplaces. The lanes and courts also contain many smaller houses,\\nnot on so grand a scale, but, like your small ancient gentry,\\nsturdily maintaining their claims to equal antiquity. These\\nhave their gable ends to the street, great bow windows with\\ndiamond panes set in lead, grotesque carvings, and low arched\\ndoorways.\\nIn this most venerable and sheltered little nest have I passed\\nseveral quiet years of existence, comfortably lodged in the sec-\\nond floor of one of the smallest but oldest edifices. My sitting-\\nroom is an old wainscotted chamber, with small panels and set-\\noff with a miscellaneous array of furniture. I have a particular\\nrespect for three or four high-backed, claw-footed chairs, covered\\nwith tarnished brocade, which bear the marks of having seen\\nbetter days, and have doubtless figured in some of the old pal-\\naces of Little Britain. They seem to me to keep together and\\nto look down with sovereign contempt upon their leathern-bot-\\ntomed neighbors, as I have seen decayed gentry carry a high\\nhead among the plebeian society with which they were reduced\\nto associate. The whole front of my sitting-room is taken up\\nwith a bow window, on the panes of which are recorded the\\nnames of previous occupants for many generations, mingled with\\nscraps of very indifferent gentleman-like poetry, written in char-\\nacters which I can scarcely decipher, and which extol the charms\\nof many a beauty of Little Britain who has long, long since\\nbloomed, faded, and passed away. As I am an idle personage,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0269.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "234 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwith no apparent occupation, and pay my bill regularly every\\nweek, I am looked upon as the only independent gentleman of\\nthe neighborhood, and, being curious to learn the internal state\\nof a community so apparently shut up within itself, I have\\nmanaged to work my way into all the concerns and secrets of\\nthe place.\\nLittle Britain may truly be called the heart s core of the city,\\nthe stronghold of true John Bullism. It is a fragment of Lon-\\ndon as it was in its better days, with its antiquated folks and\\nfashions. Here flourish in great preservation many of the holi-\\nday games and customs of yore. The inhabitants most reli-\\ngiously eat pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, hot cross-buns on Good\\nFriday, and roast goose at Michaelmas they send love-letters\\non Valentine s Day, burn the pope on the Fifth of November,\\nand kiss all the girls under the mistletoe at Christmas. Roast\\nbeef and plum-pudding are also held in superstitious veneration,\\nand port and sherry maintain their grounds as the only true\\nEnglish wines, all others being considered vile outlandish bever-\\nLittle Britain has its long catalogue of city wonders, which\\nits inhabitants consider the wonders of the world, such as the\\ngreat bell of St. Paul s, which sours all the beer when it tolls\\nthe figures that strike the hours at St. Dunstan s clock; the\\nMonument the lions in the Tower and the wooden giants in\\nGuildhall. They still believe in dreams and fortune-telling,\\nand an old woman that lives in Bull-and-Mouth street makes a\\ntolerable subsistence by detecting stolen goods and promising\\nthe girls good husbands. They are apt to be rendered uncom-\\nfortable by comets and eclipses, and if a dog howls dolefully at\\nnight it is looked upon as a sure sign of death in the place.\\nThere are even many ghost-stories current, particularly concern-\\ning the old mansion-houses, in several of which it is said strange\\nsights are sometimes seen. Lords and ladies, the former in full-\\nbottomed wigs, hanging sleeves, and swords, the latter in lap-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0270.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "LITTLE BRITAIN 235\\npets, stays, hoops, and brocade, have been seen walking up and\\ndown the great waste chambers on moonlight nights, and are\\nsupposed to be the shades of the ancient proprietors in theii\\ncourt-dresses.\\nLittle Britain has likewise its sages and great men. One of\\nthe most important of the former is a tall, dry old gentleman of\\nthe name of Skryme, who keeps a small apothecary s shop. He\\nhas a cadaverous countenance, full of cavities and projections,\\nwith a brown circle round each eye, like a pair of horn specta-\\ncles. He is much thought of by the old women, who consider\\nhim as a kind of conjurer because he has two or three stuffed\\nalligators hanging up in his shop and several snakes in bottles.\\nHe is a great reader of almanacs and newspapers, and is much\\ngiven to pore over alarming accounts of plots, conspiracies, fires,\\nearthquakes, and volcanic eruptions which last phenomena he\\nconsiders as signs of the times. He has always some dismal\\ntale of the kind to deal out to his customers with their doses,\\nand thus at the same time puts both soul and body into an uproar.\\nHe is a great believer in omens and predictions and has the\\nprophecies of Eobert Nixon and Mother Shipton by heart. No\\nman can make so much out of an eclipse, or even an unusually\\ndark day and he shook the tail of the last comet over the\\nheads of his customers and disciples until they were nearly\\nfrightened out of their wits. He has lately got hold of a popu-\\nlar legend or prophecy, on which he has been unusually eloquent.\\nThere has been a saying current among the ancient sibyls, who\\ntreasure up these things, that when the grasshopper on the top\\nof the Exchange shook hands with the dragon on the top of\\nBow Church steeple, fearful events would take place. This\\nstrange conjunction, it seems, has as strangely come to pass.\\nThe same architect has been engaged lately on the repairs of\\nthe cupola of the Exchange and the steeple of Bow Church\\nand, fearful to relate, the dragon and the grasshopper actually\\nlie, cheek by jole, in the yard of his workshop.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0271.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "236 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nOthers, as Mr. Skryme is accustomed to say, may go\\nstar-gazing, and look for conjunctions in the heavens, but here\\nis a conjunction on the earth, near at home and under our own\\neyes, which surpasses all the signs and calculations of astrolo-\\ngers. Since these portentous weathercocks have thus laid\\ntheir heads together, wonderful events had already occurred.\\nThe good old king, notwithstanding that he had lived eighty-\\ntwo years, had all at once given up the ghost; another king\\nhad mounted the throne a royal duke had died suddenly an-\\nother, in France, had been murdered there had been radical\\nmeetings in all parts of the kingdom the bloody scenes at\\nManchester the great plot in Cato street and, above all, the\\nqueen had returned to England All these sinister events are\\nrecounted by Mr. Skryme with a mysterious look and a dismal\\nshake of the head and being taken with his drugs, and asso-\\nciated in the minds of his auditors with stuffed sea-monsters,\\nbottled serpents, and his own visage, which is a title-page of\\ntribulation, they have spread great gloom through the minds\\nof the people of Little Britain. They shake their heads when-\\never they go by Bow Church, and observe that they never ex-\\npected any good to come of taking down that steeple, which in\\nold times told nothing but glad tidings, as the history of\\nWhittington and his Cat bears witness.\\nThe rival oracle of Little Britain is a substantial cheese-\\nmonger, who lives in a fragment of one of the old family\\nmansions, and is as magnificently lodged as a round-bellied\\nmite in the midst of one of his own Cheshires. Indeed, he is\\na man of no little standing and importance, and his renown\\nextends through Huggin lane and Lad lane, and even unto\\nAldermanbury. His opinion is very much taken in affairs of\\nstate, having read the Sunday papers for the last half century,\\ntogether with the Gentleman s Magazine, Rapin s History of\\nEngland, and the Naval Chronicle. His head is stored with\\ninvaluable maxims which have borne the test of time and use", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0272.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "LITTLE BRITAIN 237\\nfor centuries. It is his firm opinion that it is a moral im-\\npossible, so long as England is true to herself, that anything\\ncan shake her and he has much to say on the subject of the\\nnational debt, which, somehow or other, he proves to be a\\ngreat national bulwark and blessing. He passed the greater\\npart of his life in the purlieus of Little Britain until of late\\nyears, when, having become rich and grown into the dignity of\\na Sunday cane, he begins to take his pleasure and see the world.\\nHe has therefore made several excursions to Hampstead, High-\\ngate, and other neighboring towns, where he has passed whole\\nafternoons in looking back upon the metropolis through a tele-\\nscope and endeavoring to descry the steeple of St. Bartholo-\\nmew s. Not a stage-coachman of Bull-and-Mouth street but\\ntouches his hat as he passes, and he is considered quite a\\npatron at the coach-office of the Goose and Gridiron, St. Paul s\\nChurchyard. His family have been very urgent for him to\\nmake an expedition to Margate, but he has great doubts of\\nthose new gimcracks, the steamboats, and indeed thinks himself\\ntoo advanced in life to undertake sea-voyages.\\nLittle Britain has occasionally its factions and divisions, and\\nparty spirit ran very high at one time in consequence of two\\nrival burial societies being set up in the place. One held\\nits meeting at the Swan and Horseshoe, and was patronized by\\nthe cheesemonger the other at the Cock and Crown, under the\\nauspices of the apothecary it is needless to say that the latter\\nwas the most flourishing. I have passed an evening or two at\\neach, and have acquired much valuable information as to the\\nbest mode of being buried, the comparative merits of church-\\nyards, together with divers hints on the subject of patent iron\\ncoffins. I have heard the question discussed in all its bearings\\nas to the legality of prohibiting the latter on account of their\\ndurability. The feuds occasioned by these societies have hap-\\npily died of late but they were for a long time prevailing\\nthemes of controversy, the people of Little Britain being ex", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0273.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "238 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ntremely solicitous of funeral honors and of lying comfortably\\nin their graves.\\nBesides these two funeral societies there is a third of quite a\\ndifferent cast, which tends to throw the sunshine of good-humor\\nover the whole neighborhood. It meets once a week at a little\\nold-fashioned house kept by a jolly publican of the name of\\nWagstaff, and bearing for insignia a resplendent half-moon, with\\na most seductive bunch of grapes. The whole edifice is cov-\\nered with inscriptions to catch the eye of the thirsty wayfarer\\nsuch as Truman, Hanbury, and Co. s Entire, Wine, Rum,\\nand Brandy Vaults, Old Tom, Rum, and Compounds, etc.\\nThis indeed has been a temple of Bacchus and Momus from\\ntime immemorial. It has always been in the family of the\\nWagstaffs, so that its history is tolerably preserved by the pres-\\nent landlord. It was much frequented by the gallants and cav-\\nalieros of the reign of Elizabeth, and was looked into now and\\nthen by the wits of Charles the Second s day. But what Wag-\\nstaff principally prides himself upon is that Henry the Eighth,\\nin one of his nocturnal rambles, broke the head of one of his\\nancestors with his famous walking-staff. This, however, is con-\\nsidered as rather a dubious and vainglorious boast of the land-\\nlord.\\nThe club which now holds its weekly sessions here goes by\\nthe name of the Roaring Lads of Little Britain. They\\nabound in old catches, glees, and choice stories that are tradi-\\ntional in the place and not to be met with in any other part of\\nthe metropolis. There is a madcap undertaker who is inimitable\\nat a merry song, but the life of the club, and indeed the prime\\nwit of Little Britain, is bully Wagstaff himself. His ancestors\\nvrere all wags before him, and he has inherited with the inn a\\ntarge stock of songs and jokes, which go with it from generation\\nto generation as heirlooms. He is a dapper little fellow, with\\nbandy legs and pot belly, a red face with a moist merry eye,\\nand a little shock of gray hair behind. At the opening of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0274.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "LITTLE BRITAIN 239\\nevery club night he is called in to sing his Confession oi\\nFaith, which is the famous old drinking trowl from Gammer\\nGurton s Needle. He sings it, to be sure, with many varia-\\ntions, as he received it from his father s lips for it has been\\na standing favorite at the Half-Moon and Bunch of Grapes\\never since it was written nay, he affirms that his predecessors\\nhave often had the honor of singing it before the nobility and\\ngentry at Christmas mummeries, when Little Britain was in all\\nits glory.\\nIt would do one s heart good to hear, on a club night, the\\nshouts of merriment, the snatches of song, and now and then\\nthe choral bursts of half a dozen discordant voices, which issue\\nfrom this jovial mansion. At such times the street is lined\\nwith listeners, who enjoy a delight equal to that of gazing into\\na confectioner s window or snuffing up the steams of a cook-\\nshop.\\nThere are two annual events which produce great stir and\\nsensation in Little Britain these are St. Bartholomew s Fair\\nand the Lord Mayor s Day.\u00c2\u00b0 During the time of the fair, which\\nis held in the adjoining regions of Smithfield, there is nothing\\ngoing on but gossiping and gadding about. The late quiet\\nstreets of Little Britain are overrun with an irruption of\\nstrange figures and faces very tavern is a scene of rout and\\nrevel. The fiddle and the song are heard from the taproom\\nmorning, noon, and night; and at each window may be seen\\nsome group of boon companions, with half-shut eyes, hats on\\none side, pipe in mouth and tankard in hand, fondling and\\nprosing, and singing maudlin songs over their liquor. Even\\nthe sober decorum of private families, which I must say is\\nrigidly kept up at other times among my neighbors, is no proof\\nagainst this saturnalia. There is no such thing as keeping\\nmaid-servants within doors. Their brains are absolutely set\\nmadding with Punch and the Puppet-Show, the Flying Horses,\\nSignior Polito, the Fire-Eater, the celebrated Mr. Paap, and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0275.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "240 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthe Irish Giant. The children, too, lavish all their holidaj\\nmoney in toys and gilt gingerbread, and fill the house with the\\nLilliputian din of drums, trumpets, and penny whistles.\\nBut the Lord Mayor s Day is the great anniversary. The\\nLord Mayor is looked up to by the inhabitants of Little Britain\\nas the greatest potentate upon earth, his gilt coach with six\\nhorses as the summit of human splendor, and his procession,\\nwith all the sheriffs and aldermen in his train, as the grandest\\nof earthly pageants. How they exult in the idea that the king\\nhimself dare not enter the city without first knocking at the\\ngate of Temple Bar and asking permission of the Lord Mayor\\nfor if he did, heaven and earth there is no knowing what\\nmight be the consequence. The man in armor who rides before\\nthe Lord Mayor, and is the city champion, has orders to cut\\ndown everybody that offends against the dignity of the city\\nand then there is the little man with a velvet porringer on his\\nhead, who sits at the window of the state coach and holds the\\ncity sword, as long as a pike-staff. Odd s blood if he once\\ndraws that sword, Majesty itself is not safe.\\nUnder the protection of this mighty potentate, therefore, the\\ngood people of Little Britain sleep in peace. Temple Bar\u00c2\u00b0 is an\\neffectual barrier against all interior foes and as to foreign in-\\nvasion, the Lord Mayor has but to throw himself into the\\nTower, call in the train-bands, and put the standing army of\\nBeef-eaters under arms, and he may bid defiance to the world\\nThus wrapped up in its own concerns, its own habits, and its\\nown opinions, Little Britain has long flourished as a sound\\nheart to this great fungous metropolis. I have pleased myself\\nwith considering it as a chosen spot, where the principles of\\nsturdy John Bullism were garnered up, like seed corn, to renew\\nthe national character when it had run to waste and degeneracy,\\nI have rejoiced also in the general spirit of harmony that pre-\\nvailed throughout it for though there might now and then be\\na few clashes of opinion between the adherents of the cheese-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0276.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "LITTLE BRITAIN 241\\nmonger and the apothecary, and an occasional feud between the\\nburial societies, yet these were but transient clouds and soon\\npassed away. The neighbors met with good-will, parted with a\\nshake of the hand, and never abused each other except behind\\ntheir backs,\\nI could give rare descriptions of snug junketing parties at\\nwhich I have been present, where we played at All-Fours, Pope-\\nJoan, Tom-come-tickle-me, and other choice old games, and where\\nwe sometimes had a good old English country dance to the tune\\nof Sir Eoger de Coveiiey. Once a year also the neighbors would\\ngather together and go on a gypsy party to Epping Forest. It\\nwould have done any man s heart good to see the merriment\\nthat took place here as we banqueted on the grass under the\\ntrees. How we made the woods ring with bursts of laughter at\\nthe songs of little Wagstaff and the merry undertaker A fter\\ndinner, too, the young folks would play at blindman s-buff and\\nhide-and-seek, and it was amusing to see them tangled among\\nthe briers, and to hear a fine romping girl now and then squeak\\nfrom among the bushes. The elder folks would gather round\\nthe cheesemonger and the apothecary to hear them talk politics,\\nfor they generally brought out a newspaper in their pockets to\\npass away time in the country. They would now and then, to\\nbe sure, get a little warm in argument but their disputes were\\nalways adjusted by reference to a worthy old umbrella-maker in\\na double chin, who, never exactly comprehending the subject,\\nmanaged somehow or other to decide in favor of both parties.\\nAll empires, however, says some philosopher or historian, are\\ndoomed to changes and revolutions. Luxury and innovation\\ncreep in, factions arise, and families now and then spring up\\nwhose ambition and intrigues throw the whole system into con-\\nfusion. Thus in latter days has the tranquillity of Little Britain\\nbeen grievously disturbed and its golden simplicity of manners\\nthreatened with total subversion by the aspiring family of a\\nretired butcher.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0277.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "242 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nThe family of the Lambs had long been among the most\\nthriving and popular in the neighborhood the Miss Lambs\\nwere the belles of Little Britain, and everybody was pleased\\nwhen Old Lamb had made money enough to shut up shop and\\nput his name on a brass plate on his door. In an evil hour,\\nhowever, one of the Miss Lambs had the honor of being a lady\\nin attendance on the Lady Mayoress at her grand annual ball,\\non which occasion she wore three towering ostrich feathers on\\nher head. The family never got over it; they were immedi-\\nately smitten with a passion for high life set up a one-horse\\ncarriage, put a bit of gold lace round the errand-boy s hat, and\\nhave been the talk and detestation of the whole neighborhood\\never since. They could no longer be induced to play at Pope-\\nJoan or blindman s-buff they could endure no dances but qua-\\ndrilles, which nobody had ever heard of in Little Britain and\\nthey took to reading novels, talking bad French, and playing\\nupon the piano. Their brother, too, who had been articled to\\nan attorney, set up for a dandy and a critic, characters hitherto\\nunknown in these parts, and he confounded the worthy folks\\nexceedingly by talking about Kean, the opera, and the Edin-\\nburgh Review,\\nWhat was still worse, the Lambs gave a grand ball, to which\\nthey neglected to invite any of their old neighbors but they\\nhad a great deal of genteel company from Theobald s Road,\\nRed Lion Square, and other parts towards the west. There\\nwere several beaux of their brother s acquaintance from Gray s\\nInn Lane and Hatton Garden, and not less than three alder-\\nmen s ladies with their daughters. This was not to be for-\\ngotten or forgiven. All Little Britain was in an uproar with\\nthe smacking of whips, the lashing of miserable horses, and the\\nrattling and jingling of hackney-coaches. The gossips of the\\nneighborhood might be seen popping their night-caps out at\\nevery window, watching the crazy vehicles rumble by, and\\nthere was a knot of virulent old cronies that kept a look-out", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0278.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "LITTLE BRITAIN 243\\nfrom a house just opposite the retired butcher s and scanned\\nand criticised every one that knocked at the door.\\nThis dance was a cause of almost open war, and the whole\\nneighborhood declared they would have nothing more to say to\\nthe Lambs. It is true that Mrs. Lamb, when she had no\\nengagements with her quality acquaintance, would give little\\nhumdrum tea-junketings to some of her old cronies, quite, as\\nshe would say, in a friendly way and it is equally true that\\nher invitations were always accepted, in spite of all previous\\nvows to the contrary. Nay, the good ladies would sit and be\\ndelighted with the music of the Miss Lambs, who would con-\\ndescend to strum an Irish melody for them on the piano and\\nthey would listen with wonderful interest to Mrs. Lamb s anec-\\ndotes of Alderman Plunket s family, of Portsoken Ward, and\\nthe Miss Timberlakes, the rich heiresses of Crutched Friars j\\nbut then they relieved their consciences and averted the re-\\nproaches of their confederates by canvassing at the next gossip\\ning convocation everything that had passed, and pulling the\\nLambs and their rout all to pieces.\\nThe only one of the family that could not be made fashion-\\nable was the retired butcher himself. Honest Lamb, in spite\\nof the meekness of his name, was a rough, hearty old fellow,\\nwith the voice of a lion, a head of black hair like a shoe-brush,\\nand a broad face mottled like his own beef. It was in vain that\\nthe daughters always spoke of him as the old gentleman, ad-\\ndressed him as papa in tones of infinite softness, and endeav-\\nored to coax him into a dressing-gown and slippers and other\\ngentlemanly habits. Do what they might, there was no keep-\\ning down the butcher. His sturdy nature would break through\\nall their glozings. He had a hearty vulgar good-humor that\\nwas irrepressible. His very jokes made his sensitive daughters\\nshudder, and he persisted in wearing his blue cotton coat of a\\nmorning, dining at two o clock, and having a bit of sausage\\nwith his tea.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0279.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "244 THE SKETCH BOOR\\nHe was doomed, however, to share the unpopularity of his\\nfamily. He found his old comrades gradually growing cold\\nind civil to him, no longer laughing at his jokes, and now and\\nthen throwing out a fling at some people and a hint about\\nquality binding. This both nettled and perplexed the hon-\\nest butcher and his wife and daughters, with the consummate\\npolicy of the shrewder sex, taking advantage of the circumstance,\\nat length prevailed upon him to give up his afternoon s pipe\\nand tankard at WagstafFs, to sit after dinner by himself and\\ntake his pint of port a liquor he detested and to nod in his\\nchair in solitary and dismal gentility.\\nThe Miss Lambs might now be seen flaunting along the\\nstreets in French bonnets with unknown beaux, and talking\\nand laughing so loud that it distressed the nerves of every good\\nlady within hearing. They even went so far as to attempt pat-\\nronage, and actually induced a French dancing-master to set up\\nin the neighborhood; but the worthy folks of Little Britain\\ntook fire at it, and did so persecute the poor Gaul that he was\\nfain to pack up fiddle and dancing-pumps and decamp with such\\nprecipitation that he absolutely forgot to pay for his lodgings.\\nI had flattered myself, at first, with the idea that all this\\nfiery indignation on the part of the community was merely the\\noverflowing of their zeal for good old English manners and their\\nhorror of innovation, and I applauded the silent contempt they\\nwere so vociferous in expressing for upstart pride, French fash-\\nions, and the Miss Lambs. But I grieve to say that I soon\\nperceived the infection had taken hold, and that my neighbors,\\nafter condemning, were beginning to follow their example. I\\noverheard my landlady importuning her husband to let their\\ndaughters have one quarter at French and music, and that they\\nmight take a few lessons in quadrille.. I even saw, in the course\\nof a few Sundays, no less than five French bonnets, precisely\\nlike those of the Miss Lambs, parading about Little Britain.\\nI still had my hopes that all this folly would gradually die", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0280.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "LITTLE BRITAIN 245\\naway, that the Lambs might move out of the neighborhood,\\nmight die, or might run away with attorneys apprentices, and that\\nquiet and simplicity might be again restored to the community,\\nBut unluckily a rival power arose. An opulent oilman died,\\nand left a widow with a large jointure and a family of buxom\\ndaughters. The young ladies had long been repining in secret\\nat the parsimony of a prudent father, which kept down all their\\nelegant aspirings. Their ambition, being now no longer re-\\nstrained, broke out into a blaze, and they openly took the field\\nagainst the family of the butcher. It is true that the Lambs,\\nhaving had the first start, had naturally an advantage of them\\nin the fashionable career. They could speak a little bad French,\\nplay the piano, dance quadrilles, and had formed high acquaint-\\nances but the Trotters were not to be distanced. When the\\nLambs appeared with two feathers in their hats, the Miss\\nTrotters mounted four and of twice as fine colors. If the\\nLambs gave a dance, the Trotters were sure not to be behind-\\nhand and, though they might not boast of as good company,\\nyet they had double the number and were twice as merry*\\nThe whole community has at length divided itself into fash-\\nionable factions under the banners of these two families. The\\nold games of Pope-Joan and Tom-come-tickle-me are entirely\\ndiscarded there is no such thing as getting up an honest country\\ndance and on my attempting to kiss a young lady under the mis-\\ntletoe last Christmas, I was indignantly repulsed, the Miss Lambs\\nhaving pronounced it shocking vulgar. Bitter rivalry has also\\nbroken out as to the most fashionable part of Little Britain,\\nthe Lambs standing up for the dignity of Cross-Keys Square,\\nand the Trotters for the vicinity of St. Bartholomew s.\\nThus is this little territory torn by factions and internal dis-\\nsensions, like the great empire whose name it bears and what\\nwill be the result would puzzle the apothecary himself, with all\\nhis talent at prognostics, to determine, though I apprehend that\\nit will terminate in the total downfall of genuine John Bullism", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0281.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "246 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nThe immediate effects are extremely unpleasant to me. Be\\ning a single man, and, as I observed before, rather an idle good-\\nfor-nothing personage, I have been considered the only gentleman\\nby profession in the place. I stand therefore in high favor with\\nboth parties, and have to hear all their cabinet counsels and\\nmutual backbitings. As I am too civil not to agree with the\\nladies on all occasions, I have committed myself most horribly\\nwith both parties by abusing their opponents. I might man-\\nage to reconcile this to my conscience, which is a truly accom-\\nmodating one, but I cannot to my apprehension if the Lambs\\nand Trotters ever come to a reconciliation and compare notes, I\\nam ruined\\nI have determined, therefore, to beat a retreat in time, and\\nam actually looking out for some other nest in this great city\\nwhere old English manners are still kept up, where French is\\nneither eaten, drunk, danced, nor spoken, and where there are\\nno fashionable families of retired tradesmen. This found, I\\nwill, like a veteran rat, hasten away before I have an old house\\nabout my ears, bid a long, though a sorrowful adieu to my\\npresent abode, and leave the rival factions of the Lambs and\\nthe Trotters to divide the distracted empire of Little\\nBritain.\\nSTRATFORD-ON-AVON\\nThou soft-flowing Avon, by thy silver stream\\nOf things more than mortal sweet Shakespeare would dream j\\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 wide world\\nwhich he can truly call his own, there is a momentary feeling\\nof something like independence and territorial consequence\\nwhen, after a weary day s travel, he kicks off his boots, thrusts", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0282.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "STRA TFORD-ON-A VON 247\\nhis feet into slippers, and stretches himself before an inn-\\nfire. Let the world without go as it may, let kingdoms rise\\nor fall, so long as he has the wherewithal to pay his bill he is,\\nfor the time being, the very monarch of all he surveys. The\\narmchair is his throne, the poker his sceptre, and the little\\nparlor, some twelve feet square, his undisputed empire. It is\\na morsel of certainty snatched from the midst of the uncer-\\ntainties of life it is a sunny moment gleaming out kindly on\\na cloudy day: and he who has advanced some way on the\\npilgrimage of existence knows the importance of husbanding\\neven morsels and moments of enjoyment. Shall I not take\\nmine ease in mine inn thought I, as I gave the fire a stir,\\nlolled back in my elbow-chair, and cast a complacent look\\nabout the little parlor of the Eed Horse at Stratford-on-Avon.\u00c2\u00b0\\nThe words of sweet Shakespeare were just passing through\\nmy mind as the clock struck midnight from the tower of the\\nchurch in which he lies buried. There was a gentle tap at the\\ndoor, and a pretty chambermaid, putting in her smiling face,\\ninquired, with a hesitating air, whether I had rung. I under-\\nstood it as a modest hint that it was time to retire. My dream\\nof absolute dominion was at an end so abdicating my throne,\\nlike a prudent potentate, to avoid being deposed, and putting\\nthe Stratford Guide-Book under my arm as a pillow companion,\\nI went to bed, and dreamt all night of Shakespeare, the\\nJubilee, and David Garrick.\\nThe next morning was one of those quickening mornings\\nwhich we sometimes have in early spring, for it was about the\\nmiddle of March. The chills of a long winter had suddenly\\ngiven way the north wind had spent its last gasp and a\\nmild air came stealing from the west, breathing the breath\\nof life into Nature, and wooing every bud and flower to burst\\nforth into fragrance and beauty.\\nI had come to Stratford on a poetical pilgrimage. My first\\nvisit was to the house where Shakespeare was born, and where.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0283.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "248 THE SKETCH BOOR\\naccording to tradition, he was brought up to his father s craft\\nof wool-combing. It is a small mean-looking edifice of wood\\nand plaster, a true nestling-place of genius, which seems to\\ndelight in hatching its offspring in by-corners. The walls of\\nits squalid chambers are covered with names and inscriptions\\nin every language by pilgrims of all nations, ranks, and condi-\\ntions, from the prince to the peasant, and present a simple but\\nstriking instance of the spontaneous and universal homage of\\nmankind to the great poet of Nature.\\nThe house is shown by a garrulous old lady in a frosty red\\nface, lighted up by a cold blue, anxious eye, and garnished with\\nartificial locks of flaxen hair curling from under an exceedingly\\ndirty cap. She was peculiarly assiduous in exhibiting the\\nrelics with which this, like all other celebrated shrines, abounds.\\nThere was the shattered stock of the very matchlock with which\\nShakespeare shot the deer on his poaching exploits. There,\\ntoo, was his tobacco-box, which proves that he was a rival\\nsmoker of Sir Walter Raleigh the sword also with which he\\nplayed Hamlet; and the identical lantern with which Friar\\nLaurence discovered Romeo and Juliet at the tomb. There was\\nan ample supply also of Shakespeare s mulberry tree, which\\nseems to have as extraordinary powers of self-multiplication as\\nthe wood of the true cross, of which there is enough extant to\\nbuild a ship of the line.\\nThe most favorite object of curiosity, however, is Shake-\\nspeare s chair. It stands in a chimney-nook of a small gloomy\\nchamber just behind what was his father s shop. Here he may\\nmany a time have sat when a boy, watching the slowly revolv-\\ning spit with all the longing of an urchin, or of an evening\\nlistening to the cronies and gossips of Stratford dealing forth\\nchurchyard tales and legendary anecdotes of the troublesome\\ntimes of England. In this chair it is the custom of every one\\nthat visits the house to sit whether this be done with the\\nhope of imbibing any of the inspiration of the bard I am at a", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0284.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "STB A TFORD-ON-A VON 249\\nloss to say I merely mention the fact, and mine hostess\\nprivately assured me that, though built of solid oak, such was\\nthe fervent zeal of devotees the chair had to be new bottomed\\nat least once in three years. It is worthy of notice also, in\\nthe history of this extraordinary chair, that it partakes some-\\nthing of the volatile nature of the Santa Casa of Loretto, or the\\nflying chair of the Arabian enchanter for, though sold some\\nfew years since to a northern princess, yet, strange to tell, it\\nhas found its way back again to the old chimney-corner.\\nI am always of easy faith in such matters, and am ever\\nwilling to be deceived where the deceit is pleasant and costs\\nnothing. I am therefore a ready believer in relics, legends, and\\nlocal anecdotes of goblins and great men, and would advise all\\ntravellers who travel for their gratification to be the same.\\nWhat is it to us whether these stories be true or false, so long\\nas we can persuade ourselves into the belief of them and enjoy\\nall the charm of the reality? There is nothing like resolute\\ngood-humored credulity in these matters, and on this occa-\\nsion I went even so far as willingly to believe the claims of\\nmine hostess to a lineal descent from the poet, when, unluckily\\nfor my faith, she put into my hands a play of her own composi-\\ntion, which set all belief in her own consanguinity at defiance.\\nFrom the birthplace of Shakespeare a few paces brought me\\nto his grave. He lies buried in the chancel of the parish\\nchurch, a large and venerable pile, mouldering with age, but\\nrichly ornamented. It stands on the banks of the Avon on an\\nembowered point, and separated by adjoining gardens from\\nthe suburbs of the town. Its situation is quiet and retired\\nthe river runs murmuring at the foot of the churchyard, and the\\nelms which grow upon its banks droop their branches into its\\nclear bosom. An avenue of limes, the boughs of which are\\ncuriously interlaced, so as to form in summer an arched way of\\nfoliage, leads up from the gate of the yard to the church-porch.\\nThe graves are overgrown with grass the gray tombstones", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0285.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "250 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nsome of them nearly sunk into the earth, are half covered with\\nmoss, which has likewise tinted the reverend old building.\\nSmall birds have built their nests among the cornices and\\nfissures of the walls, and keep up a continual flutter and chirp-\\ning and rooks are sailing and cawing about its lofty gray\\nspire.\\nIn the course of my rambles I met with the gray-headed\\nsexton, Edmonds, and accompanied him home to get the key\\nof the church. He had lived in Stratford, man and boy, for\\neighty years, and seemed still to consider himself a vigorous\\nman, with the trivial exception that he had nearly lost the\\nuse of his legs for a few years past. His dwelling was a cot-\\ntage looking out upon the Avon and its bordering meadows,\\nand was a picture of that neatness, order, and comfort which\\npervade the humblest dwellings in this country. A low white-\\nwashed room, with a stone floor carefully scrubbed, served for\\nparlor, kitchen, and hall. Bows of pewter and earthen dishes\\nglittered along the dresser. On an old oaken table, well rubbed\\nand polished, lay the family Bible and prayer-book, and the\\ndrawer contained the family library, composed of about half a\\nscore of well-thumbed volumes. An ancient clock, that im-\\nportant article of cottage furniture, ticked on the opposite side\\nof the room, with a bright warming-pan hanging on one side of\\nit, and the old man s horn -handled Sunday cane on the other.\\nThe fireplace, as usual, was wide and deep enough to admit a\\ngossip knot within its jambs. In one corner sat the old man s\\ngrand-daughter sewing, a pretty blue-eyed girl, and in the\\nopposite corner was a superannuated crony whom he addressed\\nby the name of John Ange, and who, I found, had been his\\ncompanion from childhood. They had played together in in-\\nfancy they had worked together in manhood they were now\\ntottering about and gossiping away the evening of life and\\nin a short time they will probably be buried together in the\\nneighboring churchyard. It is not often that we see two streams", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0286.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "STB A TFORD- ON- A VON 251\\nof existence running thus evenly and tranquilly side by side\\nit is only in such quiet bosom scenes of life that they are to\\nbe met with.\\nI had hoped to gather some traditionary anecdotes of the\\nbard from these ancient chroniclers, but they had nothing new\\nto impart. The long interval during which Shakespeare s writ-\\nings lay in comparative neglect has spread its shadow over his\\nhistory, and it is his good or evil lot that scarcely anything\\nremains to his biographers but a scanty handful of conjectures.\\nThe sexton and his companion had been employed as car-\\npenters on the preparations for the celebrated Stratford Jubilee,\\nand they remembered Garrick, the prime mover of the fete, who\\nsuperintended the arrangements, and who, according to the\\nsexton, was a short punch man, very lively and bustling.\\nJohn Ange had assisted also in cutting down Shakespeare s\\nmulberry tree, of which he had a morsel in his pocket for sale\\nno doubt a sovereign quickener of literary conception.\\nI was grieved to hear these two worthy wights speak very\\ndubiously of the eloquent dame who shows the Shakespeare\\nhouse. John Ange shook his head when I mentioned her\\nvaluable and inexhaustible collection of relics, particularly her\\nremains of the mulberry tree and the old sexton even expressed\\na doubt as to Shakespeare having been born in her house. I\\nsoon discovered that he looked upon her mansion with an evil\\neye, as a rival to the poet s tomb, the latter having compara-\\ntively but few visitors. Thus it is that historians differ at the\\nvery outset, and mere pebbles make the stream of truth diverge\\ninto different channels even at the fountain-head.\\nWe approached the church through the avenue of limes, and\\nentered by a Gothic porch, highly ornamented, with carved\\ndoors of massive oak. The interior is spacious, and the archi-\\ntecture and embellishments superior to those of most country\\nchurches. There are several ancient monuments of nobility and\\ngentry, over some of which hang funeral escutcheons and banners", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0287.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "252 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ndropping piecemeal from the walls. The tomb of Shakespeare\\nis in the chancel. The place is solemn and sepulchral. Tail\\nelms wave before the pointed windows, and the Avon, which\\nruns at a short distance from the walls, keeps up a low per-\\npetual murmur. A flat stone marks the spot where the bard\\nis buried. There are four lines inscribed on it, said to have\\nbeen written by himself, and which have in them something\\nextremely awful. If they are indeed his own, they show that\\nsolicitude about the quiet of the grave which seems natural to\\nfine sensibilities and thoughtful minds\\nGood friend, for Jesus sake, forbeare\\nTo dig the dust enclosed 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, is a bust of\\nShakespeare, put up shortly after his death and considered as a\\nresemblance. The aspect is pleasant and serene, with a finely-\\narched forehead and I thought I could read in it clear indica-\\ntions of that cheerful, social disposition by which he was as\\nmuch characterized amc-ng his contemporaries as by the vastness\\nof his genius. The inscription mentions his age at the time of his\\ndecease, fifty-three years an untimely death for the world, for\\nwhat fruit might not have been expected from the golden autumn\\nof such a mind, sheltered as it was from the stormy vicissitudes\\nof life, and flourishing in the sunshine of popular and royal\\nfavor\\nThe inscription on the tombstone has not been without its\\neffect. It has prevented the removal of his remains from the\\nbosom of his native place to Westminster Abbey, which was at\\none time contemplated. A few years since also, as some laborers\\nwere digging to make an adjoining vault, the earth caved in, so\\nas to leave a vacant space almost like an arch, through which\\none might have reached into his grave. No one, however, pre-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0288.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "STRATFORD-ON-AVON 253\\nsumed to meddle with his remains so awfully guarded by a\\nmalediction and lest any of the idle or the curious or any col-\\nlector of relics should be tempted to commit depredations, the\\nold sexton kept watch over the place for two days, until the\\nvault was finished and the aperture closed again. He told me\\nthat he had made bold to look in at the hole, but could see\\nneither coffin nor bones nothing but dust. It was something,\\nI thought, to have seen the dust of Shakespeare.\\nNext to this grave are those of his wife, his favorite daughter,\\nMrs. Hall, and others of his family. On a tomb close by, also,\\nis a full-length effigy of his old friend John Combe, of usurious\\nmemory, on whom he is said to have written a ludicrous epitaph.\\nThere are other monuments around, but the mind refuses to\\ndwell on anything that is not connected with Shakespeare. His\\nidea pervades the place the whole pile seems but as his mauso-\\nleum. The feelings, no longer checked and thwarted by doubt,\\nhere indulge in perfect confidence other traces of him may be\\nfalse or dubious, but here is palpable evidence and absolute cer-\\ntainty. As I trod the sounding pavement there was something\\nintense and thrilling in the idea that in very truth the remains\\nof Shakespeare were mouldering beneath my feet. It was a\\nlong time before I could prevail upon myself to leave the place\\nand as I passed through the churchyard I plucked a branch\\nfrom one of the yew trees, the only relic that I have brought\\nfrom Stratford.\\nI had now visited the usual objects of a pilgrim s devotion,\\nbut I had a desire to see the old family seat of the Lucys at\\nCharlecot, and to ramble through the park where Shakespeare,\\nin company with some of the roisterers of Stratford, committed\\nhis youthful offence of deer-stealing. In this hare-brained ex-\\nploit we are told that he was taken prisoner and carried to the\\nkeeper s lodge, where he remained all night in doleful captivity.\\nWhen brought into the presence of Sir Thomas Lucy his treat-\\nment must have been galling and humiliating for it so wrought", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0289.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "254 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nupon his spirit as to produce a rough pasquinade which was\\naffixed to the park gate at Charlecot.\\nThis flagitious attack upon the dignity of the knight so in-\\ncensed him that he applied to a lawyer at Warwick to put the\\nseverity of the laws in force against the rhyming deer-stalker.\\nShakespeare did not wait to brave the united puissance of a\\nknight of the shire and a country attorney. He forthwith\\nabandoned the pleasant banks of the Avon and his paternal\\ntrade wandered away to London became a hanger-on to the\\ntheatres then an actor and finally wrote for the stage and\\nthus, through the persecution of Sir Thomas Lucy, Stratford\\nlost an indifferent wool-comber and the world gained an immor-\\ntal poet. He retained, however, for a long time, a sense of the\\nharsh treatment of the lord of Charlecot, and revenged himself\\nin his writings, but in the sportive way of a good-natured mind.\\nSir Thomas is said to be the original of Justice Shallow, and\\nthe satire is slyly fixed upon him by the Justice s armorial\\nbearings, which, like those of the knight, had white luces in\\nthe quarterings.\\nVarious attempts have been made by his biographers to soften\\nand explain away this early transgression of the poet but I\\nlook upon it as one of those thoughtless exploits natural to his\\nsituation and turn of mind. Shakespeare, when young, had\\ndoubtless all the wildness and irregularity of an ardent, undisci-\\nplined, and undirected genius. The poetic temperament has\\nnaturally something in it of the vagabond. When left to itself\\nit runs loosely and wildly, and delights in everything eccentric\\nand licentious. It is often a turn up of a die, in the gambling\\nfreaks of fate, whether a natural genius shall turn out a great\\nrogue or a great poet and had not Shakespeare s mind fortu-\\nnately taken a literary bias, he might have as daringly tran-\\nscended all civil as he has all dramatic laws.\\nI have little doubt that in early life, when running like an\\nunbroken colt about the neighborhood of Stratford, he was to", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0290.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "STRA TFORD-ON-A VOJST 255\\nbe found in the company of all kinds of odd anomalous charac-\\nters, that he associated with all the madcaps of the place, and\\nwas one of those unlucky urchins at mention of whom old men\\nshake their heads and predict that they will one day come to\\nthe gallows. To him the poaching in Sir Thomas Lucy s park\\nwas doubtless like a foray to a Scottish knight, and struck his\\neager, and as yet untamed, imagination as something delightfully\\nadventurous.\\nThe old mansion of Charlecot and its surrounding park stiL\\nremain in the possession of the Lucy family, and are peculiarly\\ninteresting from being connected with this whimsical but event-\\nful circumstance in the scanty history of the bard. As the\\nhouse stood at little more than three miles distance from Strat-\\nford, I resolved to pay it a pedestrian visit, that I might stroll\\nleisurely through some of those scenes from which Shakespeare\\nmust have derived his earliest ideas of rural imagery.\\nThe country was yet naked and leafless, but English scenery\\nis always verdant, and the sudden change in the temperature of\\nthe weather was surprising in its quickening effects upon the\\nlandscape. It was inspiring and animating to witness this\\nfirst awakening of spring to feel its warm breath stealing over\\nthe senses; to see the moist mellow earth beginning to put\\nforth the green sprout and the tender blade, and the trees and\\nshrubs, in their reviving tints and bursting buds, giving the\\npromise of returning foliage and flower. The cold snow-drop,\\nthat little borderer on the skirts of winter, was to be seen w T ith\\nits chaste white blossoms in the small gardens before the cottages.\\nThe bleating of the new-dropt lambs was faintly heard from the\\nfields. The sparrow twittered about the thatched eaves and bud-\\nding hedges the robin threw a livelier note into his late querulous\\nwintry strain; and the lark, springing up from the reeking\\nbosom of the meadow, towered away into the bright fleecy\\ncloud, pouring forth torrents of melody. As I watched the\\nlittle songster mounting up higher and higher, until his body", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0291.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "256 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwas a mere speck on the white bosom of the cloud, while the\\near was still filled with his music, it called to mind Shake-\\nspeare s exquisite little song in Cymbeline\\nHark! hark! the lark at heaven s gate sings,\\nAnd Phoebus 0ns 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 poetic ground:\\neverything is associated with the idea of Shakespeare. Every\\nold cottage that I saw I fancied into some resort of his boyhood,\\nwhere he had acquired his intimate knowledge of rustic life and\\nmanners, and heard those legendary tales and wild superstitions\\nwhich he has woven like witchcraft into his dramas. For\\nin his time, we are told, it was a popular amusement in winter\\nevenings to sit round the fire, and tell merry tales of errant\\nknights, queens, lovers, lords, ladies, giants, dwarfs, thieves,\\ncheaters, witches, fairies, goblins, and friars.\\nMy route for a part of the way lay in sight of the Avon, which\\nmade a variety of the most fancy doublings and windings through\\na wide and fertile valley sometimes glittering from among\\nwillows which fringed its borders sometimes disappearing\\namong groves or beneath green banks and sometimes rambling\\nout into full view and making an azure sweep round a slope of\\nmeadow-land. This beautiful bosom of country is called the\\nVale of the Red Horse. A distant line of undulating blue hills\\nseems to be its boundary, whilst all the soft intervening land\\nscape lies in a manner enchained in the silver links of the\\nAvon.\\nAfter pursuing the road for about three miles, I turned off\\ninto a footpath, which led along the borders of fields and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0292.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "STB A TFORD-ON-A VON 25?\\nunder hedgerows to a private gate of the park there was a\\nstile, however, for the benefit of the pedestrian, there being\\na public right of way through the grounds. I delight in these\\nhospitable estates, in which every one has a kind of property\\nat least as far as the footpath is concerned. It in some measure\\nreconciles a poor man to his lot, and, what is more, to the better\\nlot of his neighbor, thus to have parks and pleasure-grounds\\nthrown open for his recreation. He breathes the pure air as\\nfreely and lolls as luxuriously under the shade as the lord of the\\nsoil and if he has not the privilege of calling all that he sees\\nhis own, he has not, at the same time, the trouble of paying for\\nit and keeping it in order.\\nI now found myself among noble avenues of oaks and\\nelms, whose vast size bespoke the growth of centuries. The\\nwind sounded solemnly among their branches, and the rooks\\ncawed from their hereditary nests in the tree-tops. The eye\\nranged through a long lessening vista, with nothing to interrupt\\nthe view but a distant statue and a vagrant deer stalking like a\\nshadow across the opening.\\nThere is something about these stately old avenues that has\\nthe effect of Gothic architecture, not merely from the pretended\\nsimilarity of form, but from their bearing the evidence of long\\nduration, and of having had their origin in a period of time with\\nwhich we associate ideas of romantic grandeur. They betoken\\nalso the long-settled dignity and proudly-concentrated indepen-\\ndence of an ancient family and I have heard a worthy but\\naristocratic old friend observe, when speaking of the sumptuous\\npalaces of modern gentry, that money could do much with\\nstone and mortar, but thank heaven there was no such thing\\nas suddenly building up an avenue of oaks.\\nIt was from wandering in early life among this rich scenery,\\nand about the romantic solitudes of the adjoining park of Full-\\nbroke, which then formed a part of the Lucy estate, that some\\nof Shakespeare s commentators have supposed he derived his", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0293.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "258 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nnoble forest meditations of Jaques and the enchanting wood\\nland pictures in As You Like It. It is in lonely wanderings\\nthrough such scenes that the mind drinks deep but quiet draughts\\nof inspiration, and becomes intensely sensible of the beauty and\\nmajesty of Nature. The imagination kindles into reverie and\\nrapture, vague but exquisite images and ideas keep breaking upon\\nit, and we revel in a mute and almost incommunicable luxury\\nof thought. It was in some such mood, and perhaps under one\\nof those very trees before me, which threw their broad shades\\nover the grassy banks and quivering waters of the Avon, that\\nthe poet s fancy may have sallied forth into that little song\\nwhich breathes 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 is a large building\\nof brick with stone quoins, and is in the Gothic style of Queen\\nElizabeth s day, having been built in the first year of her reign.\\nThe exterior remains very nearly in its original state, and may\\nbe considered a fair specimen of the residence of a wealthy\\ncountry gentleman of those days. A great gateway opens from\\nthe park into a kind of courtyard in front of the house, orna-\\nmented with a grass-plot, shrubs, and flower-beds. The gate-\\nway is in imitation of the ancient barbacan, being a kind of\\noutpost and flanked by towers, though evidently for mere orna-\\nment, instead of defence. The front of the house is completely\\nin the old style with stone-shafted casements, a great bow-window\\nof heavy stone-work, and a portal with armorial bearings over it\\ncarved in stone. At each corner of the building is an octagon\\ntower surmounted by a gilt ball and weather-cock.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0294.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "STEATFORD-ON-A VON 259\\nThe Avon, which winds through the park, makes a bend just\\nat the foot of a gently-sloping bank which sweeps down from\\nthe rear of the house. Large herds of deer were feeding or\\nreposing upon its borders, and swans were sailing majestically\\nupon its bosom. As I contemplated the venerable old mansion\\nI called to mind Falstaff s encomium on Justice Shallow s abode,\\nand the affected indifference and real vanity of the latter\\nFalstaff. You have a goodly dwelling and a rich.\\nShallow. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir\\nJohn: marry, good air.\\nWhatever may have been the joviality of the old mansion in\\nthe days of Shakespeare, it had now an air of stillness and soli-\\ntude. The great iron gateway that opened into the courtyard\\nwas locked there was no show of servants bustling about the\\nplace the deer gazed quietly at me as I passed, being no longer\\nharried by the moss-troopers of Stratford. The only sign of\\ndomestic life that I met with was a white cat stealing with\\nwary look and stealthy pace towards the stables, as if on some\\nnefarious expedition. I must not omit to mention the carcass\\nof a scoundrel crow which I saw suspended against the barn-\\nwall, as it shows that the Lucys still inherit that lordly abhor-\\nrence of poachers and maintain that rigorous exercise of territorial\\npower which was so strenuously manifested in the case of the\\nbard.\\nAfter prowling about for some time, I at length found my\\nway to a lateral portal, which was the every-day entrance to\\nthe mansion. I was courteously received by a worthy old\\nhousekeeper, who, with the civility and communicativeness of\\nher order, showed me the interior of the house. The greatei\\npart has undergone alterations and been adapted to modern\\ntastes and modes of living there is a fine old oaken staircase,\\nand the great hall, that noWe. feature in an ancient manor-\\nhouse, still retains much of the appearance it must have had in", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0295.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "260 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthe days of Shakespeare. The ceiling is arched and lofty, and\\nat one end is a gallery in which stands an organ. The weapons\\nand trophies of the chase, which formerly adorned the hall of a\\ncountry gentleman, have made way for family portraits. There\\nis a wide, hospitable fireplace, calculated for an ample old-fash-\\nioned wood fire, formerly the rallying-place of winter festivity.\\nOn the opposite side of the hall is the huge Gothic bow- window,\\nwith stone shafts, which looks out upon the courtyard. Here\\nare emblazoned in stained glass the armorial bearings of the\\nLucy family for many generations, some being dated in 1558.\\nI was delighted to observe in the quarterings the three ivhite\\nluces by which the character of Sir Thomas was first identified\\nwith that of Justice Shallow. They are mentioned in the first\\nscene of the Merry Wives of Windsor, where the justice is in\\na rage with Falstaff for having beaten his men, killed his\\ndeer, and broken into his lodge. The poet had no doubt the\\noffences of himself and his comrades in mind at the time, and\\nwe may suppose the family pride and vindictive threats of the\\npuissant Shallow to be a caricature of the pompous indignation\\nof Sir Thomas\\nShallow. Sir Hugh, persuade me not: I will make a Star-Chamber\\nmatter of it if he were twenty John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Sir\\nRobert Shallow, Esq.\\nSlender. In the county of Gioster, justice of peace and coram.\\nShallow. Ay, cousin Slender, and custalorum.\\nSlender. Ay, and ratolorum too, and a gentleman born, master par-\\nson who writes himself Armigero in any bill, warrant, quittance, or\\nobligation, Armigero.\\nShallow. Ay, that I do and have done any time these three hundred\\nyears.\\nSlender. All his successors gone before him have done t, and all his\\nancestors that come after him may they may give the dozen white luces\\nin their coat\\nShalloio. The council shall hear it it is a riot.\\nEvans. It is not meet the council hear of a riot; there is no fear of\\nGot in a riot; the council, hear you, shall desire to hear the fear of\\nGot, and not to hear a riot; take your vizaments in that.\\nShallow. Ha o my life, if I were young again, the sword should end\\nit!", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0296.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "8TB A TF ORB-ON- A VON 261\\nNear the window thus emblazoned hung a portrait, by Sir\\nPeter Lely, of one of the Lucy family, a great beauty of the\\ntime of Charles the Second the old housekeeper shook her\\nhead as she pointed to the picture, and informed me that this\\nlady had been sadly addicted to cards, and had gambled away\\na great portion of the family estate, among which was that part\\nof the park where Shakespeare and his comrades had killed the\\ndeer. The lands thus lost had not been entirely regained by\\nthe family even at the present day. It is but justice to this\\nrecreant dame to confess that she had a surpassingly fine hand\\nand arm.\\nThe picture which most attracted my attention was a great\\npainting over the fireplace, containing likenesses of Sir Thomas\\nLucy and his family who inhabited the hall in the latter part\\nof Shakespeare s lifetime. I at first thought that it was the\\nvindictive knight himself, but the housekeeper assured me that\\nit was his son the only likeness extant of the former being an\\neffigy upon his tomb in the church of the neighboring hamlet\\nof Charlecot. The picture gives a lively idea of the costume\\nand manners of the time. Sir Thomas is dressed in ruff and\\ndoublet, white shoes with roses in them, and has a peaked yellow,\\nor, as Master Slender would say, a cane-colored beard. His\\nlady is seated on the opposite side of the picture in wide ruff\\nand long stomacher, and the children have a most venerable\\nstiffness and formality of dress. Hounds and spaniels are\\nmingled in the family group a hawk is seated on his perch\\nin the foreground, and one of the children holds a bow, all\\nintimating the knight s skill in hunting, hawking, and archery,\\nso indispensable to an accomplished gentleman in those\\ndays.\\nI regretted to find that the ancient furniture of the hall had\\ndisappeared for I had hoped to meet with the stately elbow-\\nchair of carved oak in which the country squire of former days\\nwas wont to sway the sceptre of empire over his rural domains,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0297.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "262 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nand in which it might be presumed the redoubted Sir Thomas\\nsat enthroned in awful state when the recreant Shakespeare\\nwas brought before him. As I like to deck out pictures for\\nmy own entertainment, I pleased myself with the idea that this\\nvery hall had been the scene of the unlucky bard s examination\\non the morning after his captivity in the lodge. I fancied to\\nmyself the rural potentate surrounded by his body-guard of\\nbutler, pages, and blue-coated serving-men with their badges,\\nwhile the luckless culprit was brought in, forlorn and chopfallen,\\nin the custody of gamekeepers, huntsmen, and whippers-in, and\\nfollowed by a rabble rout of country clowns. I fancied bright\\nfaces of curious housemaids peeping from the half-opened doors,\\nwhile from the gallery the fair daughters of the knight leaned\\ngracefully forward, eyeing the youthful prisoner with that pity\\nthat dwells in womanhood. Who would have thought that\\nthis poor varlet, thus trembling before the brief authority of a\\ncountry squire, and the sport of rustic boors, was soon to become\\nthe delight of princes, the theme of all tongues and ages, the\\ndictator to the human mind, and was to confer immortality on\\nhis oppressor by a caricature and a lampoon\\nI was now invited by the butler to walk into the garden, and\\nI felt inclined to visit the orchard and harbor where the justice\\ntreated Sir John FalstafT and Cousin Silence to a last year s\\npippin of his own grafting, with a dish of caraways but I\\nhad already spent so much of the day in my ramblings that I\\nwas obliged to give up any further investigations. When about\\nto take my leave I was gratified by the civil entreaties of the\\nhousekeeper and butler that I would take some refreshment\\nan instance of good old hospitality which, I grieve to say, we\\ncastle-hunters seldom meet with in modern days. I make no\\ndoubt it is a virtue which the present representative of the\\nLucys inherits from his ancestors; for Shakespeare, even in his\\ncaricature, makes Justice Shallow r importunate in this respect,\\nas witness his pressing instances to Falstaff", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0298.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "S TRA TFOBD- ON -A VON 263\\nBy cock and pye, sir, you shall not away to-night I will not\\nexcuse you you shall not be excused excuses shall not be admitted\\nthere is no excuse shall serve you shall not be excused Some\\npigeons, Davy, a couple of short-legged hens a joint of mutton and\\nany pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William Cook.*\\nI now bade a reluctant farewell to the old hall. My mind\\nhad become so completely possessed by the imaginary scenes\\nand characters connected with it that I seemed to be actually\\nliving among them. Everything brought them as it were before\\nmy eyes, and as the door of the dining-room opened I almost\\nexpected to hear the feeble voice of Master Silence quavering\\nforth 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 reflect on the singular\\ngift of the poet, to be able thus to spread the magic of his\\nmind over the very face of Nature, to give to things and places\\na charm and character not their own, and to turn this working-\\nday world into a perfect fairy-land. He is indeed the true\\nenchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon\\nthe imagination and the heart. Under the wizard influence of\\nShakespeare I had been walking all day in a complete delusion.\\nI had surveyed the landscape through the prism of poetry, which\\ntinged ^very object with the hues of the rainbow. I had been\\nsurrounded with fancied beings, with mere airy nothings conjured\\nup by poetic power, yet which, to me, had all the charm of\\nreality. I had heard Jaques soliloquize beneath his oak had\\nbeheld the fair Rosalind and her companion adventuring through\\nthe woodlands and, above all, had been once more present in\\nspirit with fat Jack Falstaff and his contemporaries, from the\\naugust Justice Shallow down to the gentle Master Slender and\\nthe sweet Anne Page. Ten thousand honors and blessings on", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0299.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "264 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthe bard who has thus gilded the dull realities of life with inno\\ncent illusions, who has spread exquisite and unbought pleasures\\nin my chequered path, and beguiled my spirit in many a lonely\\nhour with all the cordial and cheerful sympathies of social life\\nAs I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my return, I paused\\nto contemplate the distant church in which the poet lies buried\\nand could not but exult in the malediction which has kept hk\\nashes undisturbed in its quiet and hallowed vaults. Wha),\\nhonor could his name have derived from being mingled in dusty\\ncompanionship with the epitaphs and escutcheons and venal\\neulogiums of a titled multitude What would a crowded cor-\\nner in Westminster Abbey have been, compared with this rev-\\nerend pile, which seems to stand in beautiful loneliness as his\\nsole mausoleum The solicitude about the grave may be but\\nthe offspring of an over-wrought sensibility but human nature\\nis made up of foibles and prejudices, and its best and tenderest\\naffections are mingled with these factitious feelings. He who\\nhas sought renown about the world, and has reaped a full har-\\nvest of worldly favor, will find, after all, that there is no love,\\nno admiration, no applause, so sweet to the soul as that which\\nsprings up in his native place. It is there that he seeks to be\\ngathered in peace and honor among his kindred and his early\\nfriends. And when the weary heart and failing head begin to\\nwarn him that the evening of life is drawing on, he turns as\\nfondly as does the infant to the mother s arms to sink to sleep\\nin the bosom of the scene of his childhood.\\nHow would it have cheered the spirit of the youthful bard\\nwhen, wandering forth in disgrace upon a doubtful world, he\\ncast back a heavy look upon his paternal home, could he have\\nforeseen that before many years he should return to it covered\\nwith renown that his name should become the boast and glory\\nof his native place that his ashes should be religiously guarded\\nas its most precious treasure and that its lessening spire, on\\nwhich his eyes were fixed in tearful contemplation, should one", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0300.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER 265\\nday become the beacon towering amidst the gentle landscape tc\\nguide the literary pilgrim of every nation to his tomb\\nTEAITS OP INDIAN CHARACTER\\nI appeal to any white man if ever he entered Logan s cabin hun-\\ngry, and he gave him not to eat; if ever he came cold and naked, and\\nhe clothed him not.\\nSpeech of an Indian Chief.\\nThere is something in the character and habits of the North\\nAmerican savage, taken in connection with the scenery over\\nwhich he is accustomed to range, its vast lakes, boundless forests,\\nmajestic rivers, and trackless plains, that is, to my mind, won-\\nderfully striking and sublime. He is formed for the wilder-\\nness, as the Arab is for the desert. His nature is stern,\\nsimple, and enduring, fitted to grapple with difficulties and to\\nsupport privations. There seems but little soil in his heart for\\nthe support of the kindly virtues and yet, if we would but\\ntake the trouble to penetrate through that proud stoicism and\\nhabitual taciturnity which lock up his character from casual ob-\\nservation, we should find him linked to his fellow-man of civil-\\nized life by more of those sympathies and affections than are\\nusually ascribed to him.\\nIt has been the lot of the unfortunate aborigines of America\\nin the early periods of colonization to be doubly wronged by the\\nwhite men. They have been dispossessed of their hereditary\\npossessions by mercenary and frequently wanton warfare, and\\ntheir characters have been traduced by bigoted and interested\\nwriters. The colonists often treated them like beasts of the for-\\nest, and the author has endeavored to justify him in his outrages.\\nThe former found it easier to- exterminate than to civilize the\\nlatter to vilify than to discriminate. The appellations of savage\\nand pagan were deemed sufficient to sanction the hostilities of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0301.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "266 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nboth and thus the poor wanderers of the forest were persecuted\\nand defamed, not because they were guilty, but because they\\nwere ignorant.\\nThe rights of the savage have seldom been properly appreci-\\nated or respected by the white man. In peace he has too often\\nbeen the dupe of artful traffic in war he has been regarded as\\na ferocious animal whose life or death was a question of mere\\nprecaution and convenience. Man is cruelly wasteful of life\\nwhen his own safety is endangered and he is sheltered by impu-\\nnity, and little mercy is to be expected from him when he feels\\nthe sting of the reptile and is conscious of the power to destroy.\\nThe same prejudices, which were indulged thus early, exist\\nin common circulation at the present day. Certain learned so-\\ncieties have, it is true, with laudable diligence, endeavored to\\ninvestigate and record the real characters and manners of the\\nIndian tribes the American government, too, has wisely and\\nhumanely exerted itself to inculcate a friendly and forbearing\\nspirit towards them and to protect them from fraud and injus-\\ntice. The current opinion of the Indian character, however,\\nis too apt to be formed from the miserable hordes which infest\\nthe frontiers and hang on the skirts of the settlements. These\\nare too commonly composed of degenerate beings, corrupted and\\nenfeebled by the vices of society, without being benefited by its\\ncivilization. That proud independence which formed the main\\npillar of savage virtue has been shaken down, and the whole\\nmoral fabric lies in ruins. Their spirits are humiliated and de-\\nbased by a sense of inferiority, and their native courage cowed\\nand daunted by the superior knowledge and power of their en-\\nlightened neighbors. Society has advanced upon them like one\\nof those withering airs that will sometimes breed desolation over\\na whole region of fertility. It has enervated their strength,\\nmultiplied their diseases, and superinduced upon their original\\nbarbarity the low vices of artificial life. It has given them\\na thousand superfluous wants, whilst it has diminished their", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0302.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER 267\\nmeans of mere existence. It has driven before it the animals\\nof the chase, who fly from the sound of the axe and the smoke\\nof the settlement and seek refuge in the depths of remoter\\nforests and yet untrodden wilds. Thus do we too often find\\nthe Indians on our frontiers to be the mere wrecks and remnants\\nof once powerful tribes, who have lingered in the vicinity of the\\nsettlements and sunk into precarious and vagabond existence.\\nPoverty, repining and hopeless poverty, a canker of the mind\\nunknown in savage life, corrodes their spirits and blights every\\nfree- and noble quality of their natures. They become drunken,\\nindolent, feeble, thievish, and pusillanimous. They loiter like\\nvagrants about the settlements, among spacious dwellings re-\\nplete with elaborate comforts, which only render them sensible\\nof the comparative wretchedness of their own condition. Lux-\\nury spreads its ample board before their eyes, but they are ex-\\ncluded from the banquet. Plenty revels over the fields, but\\nthey are starving in the midst of its abundance the whole wil-\\nderness has blossomed into a garden, but they feel as reptiles\\nthat infest it.\\nHow different was their state while yet the undisputed lords\\nof the soil Their wants were few and the means of gratifica-\\ntion within their reach. They saw every one round them shar-\\ning the same lot, enduring the same hardships, feeding on the\\nsame aliments, arrayed in the same rude garments. No roof\\nthen rose but was open to the homeless stranger; no smoke\\ncu led among the trees but he was welcome to sit down by\\nits fire and join the hunter in his repast. For, says an old\\nhistorian of New England, their life is so void of care, and they\\nare so loving also, that they make use of those things they\\nenjoy as common goods, and are therein so compassionate that\\nrather than one should starve through want, they would starve\\nall thus they pass their time merrily, not regarding our pomp,\\nbut are better content with their own, which some men esteem\\nso meanly of. Such were the Indians whilst in the pride and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0303.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "268 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nenergy of their primitive natures they resembled those wild\\nplants which thrive best in the shades of the forest, but shrink\\nfrom the hand of cultivation and perish beneath the influence\\nof the sun.\\nIn discussing the savage character writers have been too prone\\nto indulge in vulgar prejudice and passionate exaggeration, in-\\nstead of the candid temper of true philosophy. They have not\\nsufficiently considered the peculiar circumstances in which the\\nIndians have been placed, and the peculiar principles under\\nwhich they have been educated. No being acts more rigidly\\nfrom rule than the Indian. His whole conduct is regulated\\naccording to some general maxims early implanted in his mind.\\nThe moral laws that govern him are, to be sure, but few but\\nthen he conforms to them all the white man abounds in laws\\nof religion, morals, and manners, but how many does he violate\\nA frequent ground of accusation against the Indians is their\\ndisregard of treaties, and the treachery and wantonness with\\nwhich, in time of apparent peace, they will suddenly fly to\\nhostilities. The intercourse of the white men with the Indians,\\nhowever, is too apt to be cold, distrustful, oppressive, and in-\\nsulting. They seldom treat them with that confidence and\\nfrankness which are indispensable to real friendship, nor is suf-\\nficient caution observed not to offend against those feelings of\\npride or superstition which often prompt the Indian to hostility\\nquicker than mere considerations of interest. The solitary sav-\\nage feels silently, but acutely. His sensibilities are not diffused\\nover so wide a surface as those of the white man, but they run\\nin steadier and deeper channels. His pride, his affections,\\nhis superstitions, are all directed towards fewer objects, but\\nthe wounds inflicted on them are proportionably severe, and\\nfurnish motives of hostility which we cannot sufficiently appre-\\nciate. Where a community is also limited in number, and\\nforms one great patriarchal family, as in an Indian tribe,\\nthe injury of an individual is the injury of the whole, and the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0304.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARAClttA 269\\nsentiment of vengeance is almost instantaneously diffused.\\nOne council-fire is sufficient for the discussion and arrangement\\nof a plan of hostilities. Here all the fighting-men and sages\\nassemble. Eloquence and superstition combine to inflame the\\nminds of the warriors. The orator awakens their martial ardor,\\nand they are wrought up to a kind of religious desperation by\\nthe visions of the prophet and the dreamer.\\nAn instance of one of those sudden exasperations, arising\\nfrom a motive peculiar to the Indian character, is extant in an\\nold record of the early settlement of Massachusetts. The planters\\nof Plymouth had defaced the monuments of the dead at Passona-\\ngessit, and had plundered the grave of the sachem s mother of\\nsome skins with which it had been decorated. The Indians are\\nremarkable for the reverence which they entertain for the sepul-\\nchres of their kindred. Tribes that have passed generations\\nexiled from the abodes of their ancestors, when by chance they\\nhave been travelling in the vicinity, have been known to turn\\naside from the highway, and, guided by wonderfully accurate\\ntradition, have crossed the country for miles to some tumulus,\\nburied perhaps in woods, where the bones of their tribe were\\nanciently deposited, and there have passed hours in silent medi-\\ntation. Influenced by this sublime and holy feeling, the sachem\\nwhose mother s tomb had been violated gathered his men to-\\ngether, and addressed them in the following beautifully simple\\nand pathetic harangue a curious specimen of Indian eloquence\\nand an affecting instance of filial piety in a savage\\nWhen last the glorious light of all the sky was underneath\\nthis globe and birds grew silent, I began to settle, as my custom\\nis, to take repose. Before mine eyes were fast closed methought\\nI saw a vision, at which my spirit was much troubled and\\ntrembling at that doleful sight, a spirit cried aloud, Behold,\\nmy son, whom I have cherished, see the breasts that gave thee\\nsuck, the hands that lapped thee warm and fed thee oft.\\nCanst thou forget to take revenge of those wild people who", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0305.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "270 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nhave defaced my monument in a despiteful manner, disdaining\\nour antiquities and honorable customs See, now, the sachem s\\ngrave lies like the common people, defaced by an ignoble race.\\nThy mother doth complain and implores thy aid against this\\nthievish people who have newly intruded on our land. If this\\nbe suffered, I shall not rest quiet in my everlasting habitation.\\nThis said, the spirit vanished, and I, all in a sweat, not able\\nscarce to speak, began to get some strength and recollect my\\nspirits that were fled, and determined to demand your counsel\\nand assistance.\\nI have adduced this anecdote at some length, as it tends to\\nshow how these sudden acts of hostility, which have been\\nattributed to caprice and perfidy, may often arise from deep and\\ngenerous motives, which our inattention to Indian character and\\ncustoms prevents our properly appreciating.\\nAnother ground of violent outcry against the Indians is their\\nbarbarity to the vanquished. This had its origin partly in\\npolicy and partly in superstition. The tribes, though sometimes\\ncalled nations, were never so formidable in their numbers but\\nthat the loss of several warriors was sensibly felt this was par-\\nticularly the case when they had been frequently engaged in\\nwarfare and many an instance occurs in Indian history where\\na tribe that had long been formidable to its neighbors has been\\nbroken up and driven away by the capture and massacre of its\\nprincipal fighting-men. There was a strong temptation, there-\\nfore, to the victor to be merciless, not so much to gratify any\\ncruel revenge, as to provide for future security. The Indians\\nhad also the superstitious belief, frequent among barbarous\\nnations and prevalent also among the ancients, that the manes\\nof their friends who had fallen in battle were soothed by the\\nblood of the captives. The prisoners, however, who are not\\nthus sacrificed are adopted into their families in the place of\\nthe slain, and are treated with the confidence and affection of\\nrelatives and friends; nay, so hospitable and tender is their", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0306.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER 271\\nentertainment that when the alternative is offered them they\\nwill often prefer to remain with their adopted brethren rather\\nthan return to the home and the friends of their youth.\\nThe cruelty of the Indians towards their prisoners has been\\nheightened since the colonization of the whites. What was\\nformerly a compliance with policy and superstition has been\\nexasperated into a gratification of vengeance. They cannot but\\nbe sensible that the white men are the usurpers of their ancient\\ndominion, the cause of their degradation, and the gradual\\ndestroyers of their race. They go forth to battle smarting with\\ninjuries and indignities which they have individually suffered,\\nand they are driven to madness and despair by the wide-spread-\\ning desolation and the overwhelming ruin of European warfare.\\nThe whites have too frequently set them an example of violence\\nby burning their villages and laying waste their slender means\\nof subsistence, and yet they wonder that savages do not show\\nmoderation and magnanimity towards those who have left\\nthem nothing but mere existence and wretchedness.\\nWe stigmatize the Indians, also, as cowardly and treacherous,,\\nbecause they use stratagem in warfare in preference to open\\nforce but in this they are fully justified by their rude code of\\nhonor. They are early taught that stratagem is praiseworthy\\nthe bravest warrior thinks it no disgrace to lurk in silence, and\\ntake every advantage of his foe he triumphs in the superior\\ncraft and sagacity by which he has been enabled to surprise\\nand destroy an enemy. Indeed, man is naturally more prone to\\nsubtilty than open valor, owing to his physical weakness in\\ncomparison with other animals. They are endowed with natural\\nweapons of defence, with horns, with tusks, with hoofs and talons\\nbut man has to depend on his superior sagacity. In all his en-\\ncounters with these, his proper enemies, he resorts to strata-\\ngem and when he perversely turns his hostility against his\\nfellow-man, he at first continues the same subtle mode of\\nwarfare.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0307.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "272 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nThe natural principle of war is to do the most harm to our\\nenemy with the least harm to ourselves and this of course is\\nto be effected by stratagem. That chivalrous courage which\\ninduces us to despise the suggestions of prudence and to rush in\\nthe face of certain danger is the offspring of society and pro-\\nduced by education. It is honorable, because it is in fact the\\ntriumph of lofty sentiment over an instinctive repugnance to\\npain, and over those yearnings after personal ease and security\\nwhich society has condemned as ignoble. It is kept alive by\\npride and the fear of shame and thus the dread of real evil is\\novercome by the superior dread of an evil which exists but in the\\nimagination. It has been cherished and stimulated also by\\nvarious means. It has been the theme of spirit-stirring song\\nand chivalrous story. The poet and minstrel have delighted to\\nshed round it the splendors of fiction, and even the historian\\nhas forgotten the sober gravity of narration and broken\\nforth into enthusiasm and rhapsody in its praise. Triumphs\\nand gorgeous pageants have been its reward monuments,\\non which art has exhausted its skill and opulence its treas-\\nures, have been erected to perpetuate a nation s gratitude and\\nadmiration. Thus artificially excited, courage has risen to an\\nextraordinary and factitious degree of heroism, and, arrayed\\nin all the glorious pomp and circumstance of war, this turbu-\\nlent quality has even been able to eclipse many of those quiet\\nbut invaluable virtues which silently ennoble the human charac-\\nter and swell the tide of human happiness.\\nBut if courage intrinsically consists in the defiance of danger\\nand pain, the life of the Indian is a continual exhibition of it.\\nHe lives in a state of perpetual hostility and risk. Peril and\\nadventure are congenial to his nature, or rather seem necessary\\nto arouse his faculties and to give an interest to his existence.\\nSurrounded by hostile tribes, whose mode of warfare is by am-\\nbush and surprisal, he is always prepared for fight and lives\\nwith his weapons in his hands. As the ship careers in fearful", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0308.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER 273\\nsingleness through the solitudes of ocean, as the bird mingles\\namong clouds and storms, and wings its way, a mere speck,\\nacross the pathless fields of air, so the Indian holds his course,\\nsilent, solitary, but undaunted, through the boundless bosom of\\nthe wilderness. His expeditions may vie in distance and\\ndanger with the pilgrimage of the devotee or the crusade of the\\nknight-errant. He traverses vast forests exposed to the hazards\\nof lonely sickness, of lurking enemies, and pining famine.\\nStormy lakes, those great inland seas, are no obstacles to his\\nwanderings in his light canoe of bark he sports like a feather\\non their waves, and darts with the swiftness of an arrow down\\nthe roaring rapids of the rivers. His very subsistence is snatched\\nfrom the midst of toil and peril. He gains his food by the\\nhardships and dangers of the chase he wraps himself in the\\nspoils of the bear, the panther, and the buffalo, and sleeps\\namong the thunders of the cataract.\\nNo hero of ancient or modern days can surpass the Indian\\nin his lofty contempt of death and the fortitude with which he\\nsustains his crudest affliction. Indeed, we here behold him\\nrising superior to the white man in consequence of his peculiar\\neducation. The latter rushes to glorious death at the cannon s\\nmouth the former calmly contemplates its approach, and\\ntriumphantly endures it amidst the varied torments of surround-\\ning foes and the protracted agonies of fire. He even takes a\\npride in taunting his persecutors and provoking their ingenuity\\nof torture and as the devouring flames prey on his very vitals\\nand the flesh shrinks from the sinews, he raises his last song\\nof triumph, breathing the defiance of an unconquered heart and\\ninvoking the spirits of his fathers to witness that he dies with-\\nout a groan.\\nNotwithstanding the obloquy with which the early historians\\nhave overshadowed the characters of the unfortunate natives,\\nsome bright gleams occasionally break through which throw\\na degree of melancholy lustre on their memories. Facts are", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0309.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "274 THE SKETCH BOOK\\noccasionally to be met with in the rude annals of the eastern\\nprovinces which, though recorded with the coloring of prejudice\\nand bigotry, yet speak for themselves, and will be dwelt on\\nwith applause and sympathy when prejudice shall have passed\\naway.\\nIn one of the homely narratives of the Indian wars in New\\nEngland there is a touching account of the desolation carried\\ninto the tribes of the Pequod Indians. Humanity shrinks\\nfrom the cold-blooded detail of indiscriminate butchery. In\\none place we read of the surprisal of an Indian fort in the\\nnight, when the wigwams were wrapped in flames and the\\nmiserable inhabitants shot down and slain in attempting to\\nescape, all being despatched and ended in the course of an\\nhour. After a series of similar transactions our soldiers,\\nas the historian piously observes, being resolved by God s\\nassistance to make a final destruction of them, the unhappy\\nsavages being hunted from their homes and fortresses and pur-\\nsued with fire and sword, a scanty but gallant band, the sad\\nremnant of the Pequod warriors, with their wives and children,\\ntook refuge in a swamp.\\nBurning with indignation and rendered sullen by despair,\\nwith hearts bursting with grief at the destruction of their tribe,\\nand spirits galled and sore at the fancied ignominy of their\\ndefeat, they refused to ask their lives at the hands of an insult-\\ning foe, and preferred death to submission.\\nAs the night drew on they were surrounded in their dismal\\nretreat, so as to render escape impracticable. Thus situated,\\ntheir enemy plied them with shot all the time, by which\\nmeans many were killed and buried in the mire. In the dark-\\nness and fog that preceded the dawn of day some few broke\\nthrough the besiegers and escaped into the woods the rest\\nwere left to the conquerors, of which many were killed in the\\nswamp, like sullen dogs who would rather, in their self-willed-\\nness and madness, sit still and be shot through or cut to", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0310.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER 275\\npieces than implore for mercy. When the day broke upon\\nthis handful of forlorn but dauntless spirits, the soldiers, we\\nare told, entering the swamp, saw several heaps of them\\nsitting close together, upon whom they discharged their pieces,\\nladen with ten or twelve pistol bullets at a time, putting the\\nmuzzles of the pieces under the boughs, within a few yards of\\nthem so as, besides those that were found dead, many more\\nwere killed and sunk into the mire, and never were minded\\nmore by friend or foe. 5\\nCan any one read this plain unvarnished tale without admir-\\ning the stern resolution, the unbending pride, the loftiness of\\nspirit that seemed to nerve the hearts of these self-taught heroes\\nand to raise them above the instinctive feelings of human\\nnature When the Gauls laid waste the city of Home, they\\nfound the senators clothed in their robes and seated with stern\\ntranquillity in their curule chairs in this manner they suffered\\ndeath without resistance or even supplication. Such conduct\\nwas in them applauded as noble and magnanimous in the\\nhapless Indian it was reviled as obstinate and sullen. How\\ntruly are we the dupes of show and circumstance How differ-\\nent is virtue clothed in purple and enthroned in state, from\\nvirtue naked and destitute and perishing obscurely in a wilder-\\nness\\nBut I forbear to dwell on these gloomy pictures. The east-\\nern tribes have long since disappeared the forests that shel-\\ntered them have been laid low, and scarce any traces remain\\nof them in the thickly-settled States of New England, except-\\ning here and there the Indian name of a village or a stream.\\nAnd such must, sooner or later, be the fate of those other\\ntribes which skirt the frontiers, and have occasionally been\\ninveigled from their forests to mingle in the wars of white men.\\nIn a little while, and they will go the way that their brethren\\nhave gone before. The few hordes which still linger about the\\nshores of Huron and Superior and the tributary streams of the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0311.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "276 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nMississippi will share the fate of those tribes that once spread\\nover Massachusetts and Connecticut and lorded it along the\\nproud banks of the Hudson, of that gigantic race said to have\\nexisted on the borders of the Susquehanna, and of those various\\nnations that flourished about the Potomac and the Rappahan-\\nilock and that peopled the forests of the vast valley of Shen-\\nandoah. They will vanish like a vapor from the face of the\\nearth; their very history will be lost in forgetfulness and\\nthe places that now know them will know them no more\\nforever. Or if, perchance, some dubious memorial \u00c2\u00a9f them\\nshould survive, it may be in the romantic dreams of the poet,\\nto people in imagination his glades and groves, like the fauns\\nand satyrs and sylvan deities of antiquity. But should he\\nventure upon the dark story of their wrongs and wretchedness,\\nshould he tell how they were invaded, corrupted, despoiled, driven\\nfrom their native abodes and the sepulchres of their fathers,\\nhunted like wild beasts about the earth, and sent down with\\nviolence and butchery to the grave, posterity will either turn\\nwith horror and incredulity from the tale or blush with indig-\\nnation at the inhumanity of their forefathers. We are driven\\nback, said an old warrior, until we can retreat no farther\\nour hatchets are broken, our bows are snapped, our fires are\\nnearly extinguished a little longer and the white man will\\ncease to persecute us, for we shall cease to exist", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0312.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "PHILIP OF POKANOKET 2 /T\\nPHILIP OF POKANOKET\\nAN INDIAN MEMOIR\\nAs monumental bronze unchanged his loo s\\nA soul that pity touch d, hut 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.\\nCampbeli*-\\nIt is to be regretted that those early writers who treated of\\nthe discovery and settlement of America have not given us\\nmore particular and candid accounts of the remarkable charac-\\nters that flourished in savage life. The scanty anecdotes which\\nhave reached us are full of peculiarity and interest; they\\nfurnish us with nearer glimpses of human nature, and show\\nwhat man is in a comparatively primitive state and what he\\nowes to civilization. There is something of the charm of dis-\\ncovery in lighting upon these wild and unexplored tracts of\\nhuman nature in witnessicg, as it were, the native growth\\nof moral sentiment, and perceiving those generous and romantic\\nqualities which have been artificially cultivated by society vege-\\ntating in spontaneous hardihood and rude magnificence.\\nIn civilized life, where the happiness, and indeed almost the\\nexistence, of man depends so much upon the opinion of his\\nfellow-men, he is constantly acting a studied part- The bold\\nand peculiar traits of native character are refined away or soft-\\nened down by the levelling influence of what is termed good-\\nbreeding, and he practises so many petty deceptions and affects\\n30 many generous sentiments for the purposes of popularity", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0313.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "278 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthat it is difficult to distinguish his real from his artificial char-\\nacter. The Indian, on the contrary, free from the restraints\\nand refinements of polished life, and in a great degree a solitary\\nand independent being, obeys the impulses of his inclination or\\nthe dictates of his judgment and thus the attributes of his\\nnature, being freely indulged, grow singly great and striking.\\nSociety is like a lawn, where every roughness is smoothed,\\nevery bramble eradicated, and where the eye is delighted by\\nthe smiling verdure of a velvet surface he, however, who\\nwould study Nature in its wildness and variety must plunge\\ninto the forest, must explore the glen, must stem the torrent,\\nand dare the precipice.\\nThese reflections arose on casually looking through a volume\\nof early colonial history wherein are recorded, with great bitter-\\nness, the outrages of the Indians and their wars with the settlers\\nof New England. It is painful to perceive, even from these\\npartial narratives, how the footsteps of civilization may be\\ntraced in the blood of the aborigines how easily the colonists\\nwere moved to hostility by the lust of conquest how merciless\\nand exterminating was their warfare. The imagination shrinks\\nat the idea how many intellectual beings were hunted from the\\nearth, how many brave and noble hearts, of Nature s sterling\\ncoinage, were broken down and trampled in the dust.\\nSuch was the fate of Philip of Pokanoket, an Indian\\nwarrior whose name was once a terror throughout Massachusetts\\nand Connecticut. He was the most distinguished of a number\\nof contemporary sachems who reigned over the Pequods, the Nar-\\nragansetts, the Wampanoags, and the other eastern tribes at the\\ntime of the first settlement of New England a band of native\\nuntaught heroes who made the most generous struggle of which\\nhuman nature is capable, fighting to the last gasp in the cause\\nof their country, without a hope of victory or a thought of\\nrenown. Worthy of an age of poetry and fit subjects for local\\nstory and romantic fiction, they have left scarcely any authentic", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0314.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "PHILIP OF POKANOKET 279\\ntraces on the page of history, but stalk like gigantic shadows\\nin the dim twilight of tradition.\\nWhen the Pilgrims, as the Plymouth settlers are called by\\ntheir descendants, first took refuge on the shores of the New\\nWorld from the religious persecutions of the Old, their situation\\nwas to the last degree gloomy and disheartening. Few in num-\\nber, and that number rapidly perishing away through sickness\\nand hardships, surrounded by a howling wilderness and savage\\ntribes, exposed to the rigors of an almost arctic winter and the\\nvicissitudes of an ever-shifting climate, their minds were filled\\nwith doleful forebodings, and nothing preserved them from sink-\\ning into despondency but the strong excitement of religious\\nenthusiasm. In this forlorn situation they were visited by\\nMassasoit, chief sagamore of the Wampanoags, a powerful chief\\nwho reigned over a great extent of country. Instead of taking\\nadvantage of the scanty number of the strangers and expelling\\nthem from his territories, into which they had intruded, he\\nseemed at once to conceive for them a generous friendship,\\nand extended towards them the rites of primitive hospitality.\\nHe came early in the spring to their settlement of New Plym-\\nouth, attended by a mere handful of followers, entered into a\\nsolemn league of peace and amity, sold them a portion of the\\nsoil, and promised to secure for them the good-will of his savage\\nallies. Whatever may be said of Indian perfidy, it is certain\\nthat the integrity and good faith of Massasoit have never been\\nimpeached. He continued a firm and magnanimous friend\\nof the white men, suffering them to extend their possessions and\\nto strengthen themselves in the land, and betraying no jealousy\\nof their increasing power and prosperity. Shortly before his\\ndeath he came once more to New Plymouth with his son Alex-\\nander, for the purpose of renewing the covenant of peace and of\\nsecuring it to his posterity.\\nAt this conference he endeavored to protect the religion of\\nhis forefathers from the encroaching zeal of the missionaries, and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0315.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "280 THE SKETCH BOOM\\nstipulated that no further attempt should be made to draw off\\nhis people from their ancient faith but, finding the English ob-\\nstinately opposed to any such condition, he mildly relinquished\\nthe demand. Almost the last act of his life was to bring his\\ntwo sons, Alexander and Philip (as they had been named by the\\nEnglish), to the residence of a principal settler, recommending\\nmutual kindness and confidence, and entreating that the same\\nlove and amity which had existed between the white men and\\nhimself might be continued afterwards with his children. The\\ngood old sachem died in peace, and was happily gathered to his\\nfathers before sorrow came upon his tribe his children remained\\nbehind to experience the ingratitude of white men.\\nHis eldest son, Alexander, succeeded him. He was of a\\nquick and impetuous temper, and proudly tenacious of his\\nhereditary rights and dignity. The intrusive policy and dicta-\\ntorial conduct of the strangers excited his indignation, and he\\nbeheld with uneasiness their exterminating wars with the\\nneighboring tribes. He was doomed soon to incur their hos-\\ntility, being accused of plotting with the Narragansetts to rise\\nagainst the English and drive them from the land. It is impos-\\nsible to say whether this accusation was warranted by facts or\\nwas grounded on mere suspicions. It is evident, however, by\\nthe violent ana overbearing measures of the settlers that they\\nhad by this time begun to feel conscious of the rapid increase\\nof their power, and to grow harsh and inconsiderate in their\\ntreatment of the natives. They despatched an armed force\\nto seize upon Alexander and tc bring him before their courts.\\nHe was traced to his woodland haunts, and surprised at a\\nhunting-house where he was reposing with a band of his fol-\\nlowers, unarmed, after the toils of the chase. The suddenness\\nof his arrest and the outrage offered to his sovereign dignity\\nso preyed upon the irascible feelings of this proud savage as\\nto throw him into a raging fever. He was permitted to return\\nhome on condition of sending his son as a pledge for his re-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0316.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "PHILIP OF POKANOKET 281\\nappearance but the blow he had received was fatal, and before\\nhe reached his home he fell a victim to the agonies of a wounded\\nspirit.\\nThe successor of Alexander was Metamocet, or King Philip,\\nas he was called by the settlers on account of his lofty spirit\\nand ambitious temper. These, together with his well-known\\nenergy and enterprise, had rendered him an object of great\\njealousy and apprehension, and he was accused of having always\\ncherished a secret and implacable hostility towards the whites.\\nSuch may very probably and very naturally have been the case.\\nHe considered them as originally but mere intruders into the\\ncountry, who had presumed upon indulgence and were extend-\\ning an influence baneful to savage life. He saw the whole race\\nof his countrymen melting before them from the face of the\\nearth, their territories slipping from their hands, and their tribes\\nbecoming feeble, scattered, and dependent. It may be said that\\nthe soil was originally purchased by the settlers but who does\\nnot know the nature of Indian purchases in the early periods\\nof colonization 1 The Europeans always made thrifty bargains\\nthrough their superior adroitness in traffic, and they gained vast\\naccessions of territory by easily-provoked hostilities. An un-\\ncultivated savage is never a nice inquirer into the refinements\\nof law by which an injury may be gradually and legally inflicted.\\nLeading facts are all by which he judges and it was enough\\nfor Philip to know that before the intrusion of the Europeans\\nhis countrymen were lords of the soil, and that now they were\\nbecoming vagabonds in the land of their fathers.\\nBut whatever may have been his feelings of general hostility\\nand his particular indignation at the treatment of his brother,\\nhe suppressed them for the present, renewed the contract with\\nthe settlers, and resided peaceably for many years at Pokauoket,\\nor, as it was called by the English, Mount Hope, the ancient\\nseat of dominion of his tribe. Suspicions, howevct which were\\nat first but vague and indefinite, began to acquire form and sub", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0317.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "282 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nstance, and he was at length charged with attempting to insti\\ngate the various eastern tribes to rise at once, and by a simul-\\ntaneous effort to throw off the yoke of their oppressors It is\\ndifficult at this distant period to assign the proper credit due\\nto these early accusations against the Indians. There was a\\nproneness to suspicion and an aptness to acts of violence on the\\npart of the whites that gave weight and importance to every\\nidle tale. Informers abounded where tale-bearing met with\\ncountenance and reward, and the sword was readily unsheathed\\nwhen its success was certain and it carved out empire..\\nThe only positive evidence on record against Philip is the\\naccusation of one Sausaman, a renegade Indian, whose natural\\ncunning had been quickened by a partial education which he\\nhad received among the settlers. He changed his faith and his\\nallegiance two or three times with a facility that evinced the\\nlooseness of his principles. He had acted for some time as\\nPhilip s confidential secretary and counsellor, and had enjoyed\\nhis bounty and protection. Finding, however, that the clouds\\nof adversity were gathering round his patron, he abandoned his\\nservice and went over to the whites, and in order to gain their\\nfavor charged his former benefactor with plotting against their\\nsafety. A rigorous investigation took place. Philip and sev-\\neral of his subjects submitted to be examined, but nothing was\\nproved against them. The settlers, however, had now gone too\\nfar to retract they had previously determined that Philip was\\na dangerous neighbor they had publicly evinced their distrust,\\nand had done enough to insure his hostility according, there-\\nfore, to the usual mode of reasoning in these cases, his destruc-\\ntion had become necessary to their security. Sausaman, the\\ntreacherous informer, was shortly afterwards found dead in a\\npond, having fallen a victim to the vengeance of his tribe. Three\\nIndians, one of whom was a friend and counsellor of Philip, were\\napprehended and tried, and on the testimony of one very ques-\\ntionable witness were condemned and executed as murderers.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0318.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "PHILIP OF POKANOKET 283\\nThis treatment of his subjects and ignominious punishment\\nof his friend outraged the pride and exasperated the passions of\\nPhilip. The bolt which had fallen thus at his very feet awa-\\nkened him to the gathering storm, and he determined to trust\\nhimself no longer in the power of the white men. The fate of\\nhis insulted and broken-hearted brother still rankled in his mind;\\nand he had a further warning in the tragical story of Miantonimo,\\na great sachem of the Narragansetts, who, after manfully facing\\nhis accusers before a tribunal of the colonists, exculpating himself\\nfrom a charge of conspiracy and receiving assurances of amity,\\nhad been perfidiously despatched at their instigation. Philip\\ntherefore gathered his fighting-men about him, persuaded all\\nstrangers that he could to join his cause, sent the women and\\nchildren to the Narragansetts for safety, and wherever he ap-\\npeared was continually surrounded by armed warriors.\\nWhen the two parties were thus in a state of distrust and\\nirritation, the least spark was sufficient to set them in a flame.\\nThe Indians, having weapons in their hands, grew mischievous\\nand committed various petty depredations. In one of their\\nmaraudings a warrior was fired on and killed by a settler. This\\nw T as the signal for open hostilities the Indians pressed to\\nrevenge the death of their comrade, and the alarm of war\\nresounded through the Plymouth colony.\\nIn the early chronicles of these dark and melancholy times\\nwe meet with many indications of the diseased state of the public\\nmind. The gloom of religious abstraction and the wildness of\\ntheir situation among trackless forests and savage tribes had\\ndisposed the colonists to superstitious fancies, and had filled\\ntheir imaginations with the frightful chimeras of witchcraft and\\nspectrology. They were much given also to a belief in omens.\\nThe troubles with Philip and his Indians were preceded, we are\\ntold, by a variety of those awful warnings which forerun great\\nand public calamities. The perfect form of an Indian bow\\nappeared in the air at New Plymouth, which was looked upon", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0319.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "284 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nby the inhabitants as a prodigious apparition. At Hadley t\\nNorthampton, and other towns in their neighborhood was\\nheard the report of a great piece of ordnance, with a shaking of\\nthe earth and a considerable echo. Others were alarmed on\\na still sunshiny morning by the discharge of guns and muskets\\nbullets seemed to whistle past them, and the noise of drums re-\\nsounded in the air, seeming to pass away to the westward\\nothers fancied that they heard the galloping of horses over their\\nheads and certain monstrous births which took place about\\nthe time filled the superstitious in some towns with doleful fore-\\nbodings. Many of these portentous sights and sounds may be\\nascribed to natural phenomena to the northern lights which\\noccur vividly in those latitudes, the meteors which explode in\\nthe air, the casual rushing of a blast through the top branches\\nof the forest, the crash of fallen trees or disrupted rocks, and to\\nthose other uncouth sounds and echoes which will sometimes\\nstrike the ear so strangely amidst the profound stillness of wood-\\nland solitudes. These may have startled some melancholy\\nimaginations, may have been exaggerated by the love for the\\nmarvellous, and listened to with that avidity with which we\\ndevour whatever is fearful and mysterious. The universal cur-\\nrency of these superstitious fancies and the grave record made\\nof them by one of the learned men of the day are strongly char-\\nacteristic of the timeSc\\nThe nature of the contest that ensued was such as too often\\ndistinguishes the warfare between civilized men and savages.\\nOn the part of the whites it was conducted with superior skill\\nand success, but with a wastefulness of the blood and a disregard\\nof the natural rights of their antagonists on the part of the\\nIndians it was waged with the desperation of men fearless of\\ndeath, and who had nothing to expect from peace but humilia-\\ntion, dependence, and decay.\\nThe events of the war are transmitted to us by a worthy clergy-\\nman of the time, who dwells with horror and indignation on", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0320.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "PHILIP OF POKANOKET 285\\nevery hostile act of the Indians, however justifiable, whilst he\\nmentions with applause the most sanguinary atrocities of the\\nwhites. Philip is reviled as a murderer and a traitor, without\\nconsidering that he was a true-born prince gallantly fighting\\nat the head of his subjects to avenge the wrongs of his family,\\nto retrieve the tottering power of his line, and to deliver his\\nnative land from the oppression of usurping strangers.\\nThe project of a wide and simultaneous revolt, if such had\\nreally been formed, was worthy of a capacious mind, and had\\nit not been prematurely discovered might have been overwhelm-\\ning in its consequonces. The war that actually broke out was\\nbut a war of detail, a mere succession of casual exploits and\\nunconnected enterprises. Still, it sets forth the military genius\\nand daring prowess of Philip, and wherever, in the prejudiced\\nand passionate narrations that have been given of it, we can\\narrive at simple facts, we find him displaying a vigorous mind,\\na fertility of expedients, a contempt of suffering and hardship,\\nand an unconquerable resolution that command our sympathy\\nand applause.\\nDriven from his paternal domains at Mount Hope, he threw\\nhimself into the depths of those vast and trackless forests that\\nskirted the settlements and were almost impervious to anything\\nbut a wild beast or an Indian. Here he gathered together his\\nforces, like the storm accumulating its stores of mischief in the\\nbosom of the thundercloud, and would suddenly emerge at a\\ntime and place least expected, carrying havoc and dismay into\\nthe villages. There were now and then indications of these\\nimpending ravages that filled the minds of the colonists with\\nawe and apprehension. The report of a distant gun would per-\\nhaps be heard from the solitary woodland, where there was\\nknown to be no white man the cattle which had been wander-\\ning in the woods would sometimes return home wounded or\\nan Indian or two would be seen lurking about the skirts of the\\nforests and suddenly disappearing, as the lightning will some-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0321.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "286 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ntimes be seen playing silently about the edge of the cloud that\\nis brewing up the tempest.\\nThough sometimes pursued and even surrounded by the\\nsettlers, yet Philip as often escaped almost miraculously from\\ntheir toils, and, plunging into the wilderness, would be lost\\nto all search or inquiry until he again emerged at some far\\ndistant quarter, laying the country desolate. Among his\\nstrongholds were the great swamps or morasses which extend\\nin some parts of New England, composed of loose bogs of deep\\nblack mud, perplexed with thickets, brambles, rank weeds, the\\nshattered and mouldering trunks of fallen trees, overshadowed\\nby lugubrious hemlocks. The uncertain footing and the tangled\\nmazes of these shaggy wilds rendered them almost impracti-\\ncable to the white man, though the Indian could thread their\\nlabyrinths with the agility of a deer. Into one of these, the\\ngreat swamp of Pocasset Neck, was Philip once driven with\\na band of his followers. The English did not dare to pursue\\nhim, fearing to venture into these dark and frightful recesses,\\nwhere they might perish in fens and miry pits or be shot down\\nby lurking foes. They therefore invested the entrance to the\\nNeck, and began to build a fort with the thought of starving\\nout the foe but Philip and his warriors wafted themselves on\\na raft over an arm of the sea in the dead of night, leaving the\\nwomen and children behind, and escaped away to the westward,\\nkindling the flames of war among the tribes of Massachusetts\\nand the Nipmuck country and threatening the colony of\\nConnecticut.\\nIn this way Philip became a theme of universal apprehension.\\nThe mystery in which he was enveloped exaggerated his real\\nterrors. He was an evil that walked in darkness, whose coming\\nnone could foresee and against which none knew when to be on\\nthe alert. The whole country abounded with rumors and\\nalarms. Philip seemed almost possessed of ubiquity, for in\\nwhatever part of the widely-extended frontier an irruption from", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0322.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "PHILIP OF POKANOKET 287\\nthe forest took place, Philip was said to be its leader. Many\\nsuperstitious notions also were circulated concerning him. He\\nwas said to deal in necromancy, and to be attended by an old\\nIndian witch or prophetess, whom he consulted and who assisted\\nhim by her charms and incantations. This, indeed, was fre-\\nquently the case with Indian chiefs, either through their own\\ncredulity or to act upon that of their followers and the influ-\\nence of the prophet and the dreamer over Indian superstition\\nhas been fully evidenced in recent instances of savage warfare.\\nAt the time that Philip effected his escape from Pocasset his\\nfortunes were in a desperate condition. His forces had been\\nthinned by repeated fights and he had lost almost the whole of\\nhis resources. In this time of adversity he found a faithful\\nfriend in Canonchet, chief sachem of all the JSTarragan setts. He\\nwas the son and heir of Miantonimo, the great sachem who, as\\nalready mentioned, after an honorable acquittal of the charge of\\nconspiracy, had been privately put to death at the perfidious\\ninstigations of the settlers. He was the heir, says the\\nold chronicler, of all his father s pride and insolence, as well\\nas of his malice towards the English he certainly was the heir\\nof his insults and injuries and the legitimate avenger of his\\nmurder. Though he had forborne to take an active part in\\nthis hopeless war, yet he received Philip and his broken forces\\nwith open arms and gave them the most generous countenance\\nand support. This at once drew upon him the hostility of the\\nEnglish, and it was determined to strike a signal blow that\\nshould involve both the sachems in one common ruin. A great\\nforce was therefore gathered together from Massachusetts,\\nPlymouth, and Connecticut, and was sent into the Narragansett\\ncountry in the depth of winter, when the swamps, being frozen\\nand leafless, could be traversed with comparative facility and\\nwould no longer afford dark and impenetrable fastnesses to the\\n(ndians.\\nApprehensive of attack, Canonchet had conveyed the greater", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0323.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "288 THE SKETCH BOOK\\npart of his stores, together with the old, the infirm, the women\\nand children of his tribe, to a strong fortress, where he and\\nPhilip had likewise drawn up the flower of their forces. This\\nfortress, deemed by the Indians impregnable, was situated upon\\na rising mound or kind of island of five or six acres in the\\nmidst of a swamp it was constructed with a degree of judg-\\nment and skill vastly superior to what is usually displayed\\nin Indian fortification, and indicative of the martial genius of\\nthese two chieftains.\\nGuided by a renegado Indian, the English penetrated,\\nthrough December snows, to this stronghold and came upon\\nthe garrison by surprise. The fight was fierce and tumultuous.\\nThe assailants were repulsed in their first attack, and several of\\ntheir bravest officers were shot down in the act of storming the\\nfortress, sword in hand. The assault was renewed with greater\\nsuccess. A lodgment was effected. The Indians were driven\\nfrom one post to another. They disputed their ground inch by\\ninch, fighting with the fury of despair. Most of their veterans\\nwere cut to pieces, and after a long and bloody battle,\\nPhilip and Canonchet, with a handful of surviving warriors,\\nretreated from the fort and took refuge in the thickets of the\\nsurrounding forest.\\nThe victors set fire to the wigwams and the fort the whole\\nwas soon in a blaze many of the old men, the women, and\\nthe children perished in the flames. This last outrage over-\\ncame even the stoicism of the savage. The neighboring woods\\nresounded with the yells of rage and despair uttered by the\\nfugitive warriors, as they beheld the destruction of their\\ndwellings and heard the agonizing cries of their wives and\\noffspring. The burning of the wigwams/ says a contemporary\\nwriter, the shrieks and cries of the women and children, and\\nthe yelling of the warriors, exhibited a most horrible and affect-\\ning scene, so that it greatly moved some of the soldiers/ The\\nsame writer cautiously adds, They were in much doubt then,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0324.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "PHILIP OF POKANOKET 289\\nand afterwards seriously inquired, whether burning their enemies\\nalive could be consistent with humanity, and the benevolent\\nprinciples of the gospel/\\nThe fate of the brave and generous Canonchet is worthy of\\nparticular mention the last scene of his life is one of the\\nnoblest instances on record of Indian magnanimity.\\nBroken down in his power and resources by this signal defeat,\\nyet faithful to his ally and to the hapless cause which he had\\nespoused, he rejected all overtures of peace offered on condition\\nof betraying Philip and his followers, and declared that he\\nwould fight it out to the last man, rather than become a ser-\\nvant to the English. His home being destroyed, his country\\nharassed and laid waste by the incursions of the conquerors, he\\nwas obliged to wander away to the banks of the Connecticut,\\nwhere he formed a rallying-point to the whole body of western\\nIndians and laid waste several of the English settlements.\\nEarly in the spring he departed on a hazardous expedition,\\nwith only thirty chosen men, to penetrate to Seaconck, in the\\nvicinity of Mount Hope, and to procure seed corn to plant for\\nthe sustenance of his troops. This little band of adventurers\\nhad passed safely through the Pequod countiy, and were in the\\ncentre of the Xarragansett, resting at some wigwams near Pau-\\ntucket River, when an alarm was given of an approaching\\nenemy. Having but seven men by him at the time, Canonchet\\ndespatched two of them to the top of a neighboring hill to bring\\nintelligence of the foe.\\nPanic-struck by the appearance of a troop of English and\\nIndians rapidly advancing, they fled in breathless terror past\\ntheir chieftain, without stopping to inform him of the danger.\\nCanonchet sent another scout, who did the same. He then\\nsent two more, one of whom, hurrying back in confusion and\\naffright, told him that the whole British army was at hand.\\nCanonchet saw there was no choice but immediate flight. He\\nattempted to escape round the hill, but was perceived and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0325.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "290 TEE SKETCH BOOK\\nhotly pursued by the hostile Indians and a few of the fleetest of\\nthe English. Finding the swiftest pursuer close upon his heels,\\nhe threw off, first his blanket, then his silver-laced coat and\\nbelt of peag, by which his enemies knew him to be Canonchet\\nand redoubled the eagerness of pursuit.\\nAt length, in dashing through the river, his foot slipped upon\\na stone, and he fell so deep as to wet his gun. This accident\\nso struck him with despair that, as he afterwards confessed, his\\nheart and his bowels turned within him, and he became like a\\nrotten stick, void of strength.\\nTo such a degree was he unnerved that, being seized by a\\nPequod Indian within a short distance of the river, he made no\\nresistance, though a man of great vigor of body and boldness\\nof heart. But on being made prisoner the whole pride of his\\nspirit arose within him, and from that moment we find, in the\\nanecdotes given by his enemies, nothing but repeated flashes\\nof elevated and prince-like heroism. Being questioned by one\\nof the English who first came up with him, and who had not\\nattained his twenty-second year, the proud-hearted warrior,\\nlooking with lofty contempt upon his youthful countenance,\\nreplied, You are a child you cannot understand matters\\nof war let your brother or your chief come him will I\\nanswer.\\nThough repeated offers were made to him of his life on\\ncondition of submitting with his nation to the English, yet he\\nrejected them with disdain, and refused to send any proposals\\nof the kind to the great body of his subjects, saying that he\\nknew none of them would comply. Being reproached with his\\nbreach of faith towards the whites, his boast that he would not\\ndeliver up a Wampanoag nor the paring of a Wampanoag s nail,\\nand his threat that he would burn the English alive in their\\nhouses, he disdained to justify himself, haughtily answering that\\nothers were as forward for the war as himself, and he desired\\nto hear no more thereof.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0326.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "PHILIP OF POKANOKET 291\\nSo noble and unshaken a spirit, so true a fidelity to his cause\\nand his friend, might have touched the feelings of the generous\\nand the brave but Canonchet was an Indian, a being towards\\nwhom war had no courtesy, humanity no law, religion no com-\\npassion he was condemned to die. The last words of his that\\nare recorded are worthy the greatness of his soul. When sen\\ntence of death was passed upon him, he observed that he liked\\nit well, for he should die before his heart was soft or he had\\nspoken anything unworthy of himself. His enemies gave him\\nthe death of a soldier, for he was shot at Stoningham by three\\nyoung sachems of his own rank.\\nThe defeat at the Narragansett fortress and the death of\\nCanonchet were fatal blows to the fortunes of King Philip.\\nHe made an ineffectual attempt to raise a head of war by stir-\\nring up the Mohawks to take arms but, though possessed of\\nthe native talents of a statesman, his arts were counteracted by\\nthe superior arts of his enlightened enemies, and the terror of\\ntheir warlike skill began to subdue the resolution of the neigh-\\nboring tribes. The unfortunate chieftain saw himself daily\\nstripped of power, and his ranks rapidly thinning around him\\nSome were suborned by the whites others fell victims to hun-\\nger and fatigue and to the frequent attacks by which they were\\nharassed. His stores were all captured his chosen friends\\nwere swept away from before his eyes his uncle was shot down\\nby his side his sister was carried into captivity and in one\\nof his narrow escapes he was compelled to leave his beloved\\nwife and only son to the mercy of the enemy. His ruin,\\nsays the historian, being thus gradually carried on, his misery\\nwas not prevented, but augmented thereby being himself made\\nacquainted with the sense and experimental feeling of the cap-\\ntivity of his children, loss of friends, slaughter of his subjects,\\nbereavement of all family relations, and being stripped of all\\noutward comforts before his own life should be taken away.\\nTo fill up the measure of his misfortunes, his own followers", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0327.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "292 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nbegan to plot against his life, that by sacrificing him they mighi\\npurchase dishonorable safety. Through treachery a number of\\nhis faithful adherents, the subjects of Wetamoe, an Indian prin-\\ncess of Pocasset, a near kinswoman and confederate of Philip,\\nwere betrayed into the hands of the enemy. Wetamoe was\\namong them at the time, and attempted to make her escape by\\ncrossing a neighboring river either exhausted by swimming or\\nstarved with cold and hunger, she was found dead and naked\\nnear the water-side. But persecution ceased not at the grave.\\nEven death, the refuge of the wretched, where the wicked com-\\nmonly cease from troubling, was no protection to this outcast\\nfemale, whose great crime was affectionate fidelity to her kins-\\nman and her friend. Her corpse was the object of unmanly\\nand dastardly vengeance the head was severed from the body\\nand set upon a pole, and was thus exposed at Taunton to the\\nview of her captive subjects. They immediately recognized\\nthe features of their unfortunate queen, and were so affected at\\nthis barbarous spectacle that we are told they broke forth into\\nthe most horrid and diabolical lamentations.\\nHowever Philip had borne up against the complicated mis-\\neries and misfortunes that surrounded him, the treachery of his\\nfollowers seemed to wring his heart and reduce him to despond-\\nency. It is said that he never rejoiced afterwards, nor had\\nsuccess in any of his designs. The spring of hope was broken\\nthe ardor of enterprise was extinguished he looked around,\\nand all was danger and darkness there was no eye to pity nor\\nany arm that could bring deliverance. With a scanty band of\\nfollowers, who still remained true to his desperate fortunes, the\\nunhappy Philip wandered back to the vicinity of Mount Hope,\\nthe ancient dwelling of his fathers. Here he lurked about\\nlike a spectre among the scenes of former power and prosperity,\\nnow bereft of home, of family, and of friend. There needs\\nno better picture of his destitute and piteous situation than that\\nfurnished by the homely pen of the chronicler, who is unwarily", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0328.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "PHILIP OF POKANOKET 293\\nenlisting the feelings of the reader in favor of the hapless\\nwarrior whom he reviles. Philip, he says, like a savage\\nwild beast, having been hunted by the English forces through\\nthe woods above a hundred miles backward and forward, at\\nlast was driven to his own den upon Mount Hope, where he\\nretired, with a few of his best friends, into a swamp, which\\nproved but a prison to keep him fast till the messengers of\\ndeath came by divine permission to execute vengeance upon\\nhim.\\nEven in this last refuge of desperation and despair a sullen\\ngrandeur gathers round his memory. We picture him to our-\\nselves seated among his care-worn followers, brooding in silence\\nover his blasted fortunes, and acquiring a savage sublimity\\nfrom the wildness and dreariness of his lurking-place. Defeated,\\nbut not dismayed crushed to the earth, but not humiliated\\nhe seemed to grow more haughty beneath disaster, and to expe-\\nrience a fierce satisfaction in draining the last dregs of bitter-\\nness. Little minds are tamed and subdued by misfortune, but\\ngreat minds rise above it. The very idea of submission awa-\\nkened the fury of Philip, and he smote to death one of his fol-\\nlowers who proposed an expedient of peace. The brother of\\nthe victim made his escape, and in revenge betrayed the retreat\\nof his chieftain. A body of white men and Indians were im-\\nmediately despatched to the swamp where Philip lay crouched,\\nglaring with fury and despair. Before he was aware of their\\napproach they had begun to surround him. In a little while\\nhe saw five of his trustiest followers laid dead at his feet all\\nresistance was vain he rushed forth from his covert, and made\\na headlong attempt to escape, but was shot through the heart\\nby a renegado Indian of his own nation.\\nSuch is the scanty story of the brave but unfortunate King\\nPhilip, persecuted while living, slandered and dishonored when\\ndead. If, however, we consider even the prejudiced anecdotes\\nfurnished us by his enemies, we may perceive in them traces of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0329.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "294 THE SKETCH BOOK\\namiable and lofty character sufficient to awaken sympathy for\\nhis fate and respect for his memory. We find that amidst all\\nthe harassing cares and ferocious passions of constant warfare\\nhe was alive to the softer feelings of connubial love and paternal\\ntenderness and to the generous sentiment of friendship. The\\ncaptivity of his beloved wife and only son are mentioned\\nwith exultation as causing him poignant misery the death of\\nany near friend is triumphantly recorded as a new blow on his\\nsensibilities; but the treachery and desertion of many of his\\nfollowers, in whose affections he had confided, is said to have\\ndesolated his heart and to have bereaved him of all further\\ncomfort. He was a patriot attached to his native soil a\\nprince true to his subjects and indignant of their wrongs a\\nsoldier daring in battle, firm in adversity, patient of fatigue, of\\nhunger, of eveiy variety of bodily suffering, and ready to perish\\nin the cause he had espoused. Proud of heart and with an\\nuntamable love of natural liberty, he preferred to enjoy it among\\nthe beasts of the forests or in the dismal and famished recesses\\nof swamps and morasses, rather than bow his haughty spirit to\\nsubmission and live dependent and despised in the ease and\\nluxury of the settlements. With heroic qualities and bold\\nachievements that would have graced a civilized warrior, and\\nhave rendered him the theme of the poet and the historian, he\\nlived a wanderer and a fugitive in his native land, and went\\ndown, like a lonely bark foundering amid darkness and tempest,\\nwithout a pitying eye to weep his fall or a friendly hand to\\nrecord his struggle.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0330.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "JOHN BULL 295\\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 nll d full of learned old books,\\nWith an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks,\\nWith an old buttery-hatch worn quite off the hooks,\\nAnd an old kitchen that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks*\\nLike an old courtier, etc.\\nOld Song.\\nThere is no species of humor in which the English more excel\\nthan that which consists in caricaturing and giving ludicrous\\nappellations or nicknames. In this way they have whimsically\\ndesignated, not merely individuals, but nations, and in their\\nfondness for pushing a joke they have not spared even them-\\nselves. One would think that in personifying itself a nation\\nwould be apt to picture something grand, heroic, and imposing\\nbut it is characteristic of the peculiar humor of the English, and\\nof their love for what is blunt, comic, and familiar, that they\\nhave embodied their national oddities in the figure of a sturdy,\\ncorpulent old fellow with a three-cornered hat, red waistcoat,\\nleather breeches, and stout oaken cudgel. Thus they have\\ntaken a singular delight in exhibiting their most private foibles\\nin a laughable point of view, and have been so successful In\\ntheir delineations that there is scarcely a being in actual exist-\\nence more absolutely present to the public mind than that\\neccentric personage, John Bull.\\nPerhaps the continual contemplation of the character thus\\ndrawn of them has contributed to fix it upon the nation, and\\nthus to give reality to what at first may have been painted in a\\ngreat measure from the imagination. Men are apt to acquire", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0331.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "296 THE SKETCH BOOK\\npeculiarities that are continually ascribed to them. The com\\nmon orders of English seem wonderfully captivated with the\\nbeau ideal which they have formed of John Bull, and endeavor\\nto act up to the broad caricature that is perpetually before\\ntheir eyes. Unluckily, they sometimes make their boasted Bull-\\nism an apology for their prejudice or grossness and this I have\\nespecially noticed among those truly homebred and genuine sons\\nof the soil who have never migrated beyond the sound of Bow\\nbells. If one of these should be a little uncouth in speech and\\napt to utter impertinent truths, he confesses that he is a real\\nJohn Bull and always speaks his mind. If he now and then\\nflies into an unreasonable burst of passion about trifles, he ob-\\nserves that John Bull is a choleric old blade, but then his passion\\nis over in a moment and he bears no malice. If he betrays a\\ncoarseness of taste and an insensibility to foreign refinements, he\\nthanks Heaven for his ignorance he is a plain John Bull and\\nhas no relish for frippery and knicknacks. His very proneness\\nto be gulled by strangers and to pay extravagantly for absurd-\\nities is excused under the plea of munificence, for John is always\\nmore generous than wise.\\nThus, under the name of John Bull he will contrive to argue\\nevery fault into a merit, and will frankly convict himself of\\nbeing the honestest fellow in existence.\\nHowever little, therefore, the character may have suited in\\nthe first instance, it has gradually adapted itself to the nation,\\nor rather they have adapted themselves to each other and a\\nstranger who wishes to study English peculiarities may gather\\nmuch valuable information from the innumerable portraits\\nof John Bull as exhibited in the windows of the caricature-\\nshops. Still, however, he is one of those fertile humorists that\\nare continually throwing out new portraits and presenting\\ndifferent aspects from different points of view and, often as he\\nhas been described, I cannot resist the temptation to give a\\nslight sketch of him such as he has met my eye.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0332.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "JOHN BULL 297\\nJohn Bull, to all appearance, is a plain, downright, matter-of-\\nfact fellow, with much less of poetry about him than rich\\nprose. There is little of romance in his nature, but a vast\\ndeal of strong natural feeling. He excels in humor more\\nthan in wit; is jolly rather than gay; melancholy rather than\\nmorose can easily be moved to a sudden tear or surprised into\\na broad laugh but he loathes sentiment and has no turn\\nfor light pleasantry. He is a boon companion, if you allow him\\nto have his humor and to talk about himself and be will\\nstand by a friend in a quarrel with life and purse, however\\nsoundly he may be cudgelled.\\nIn this last respect, to tell the truth, he has a propensity to\\nbe somewhat too ready. He is a busy-minded personage, who\\nthinks not merely for himself and family, but for all the\\ncountry round, and is most generously disposed to be every-\\nbody s champion. He is continually volunteering his services\\nto settle his neighbor s affairs, and takes it in great dudgeon\\nif they engage in any matter of consequence without asking his\\nadvice, though he seldom engages in any friendly office of the\\nkind without finishing by getting into a squabble with all\\nparties, and then railing bitterly at their ingratitude. He\\nunluckily took lessons in his youth in the noble science of\\ndefence, and having accomplished himself in the use of his\\nlimbs and his weapons and become a perfect master at boxing\\nand cudgel-play, he has had a troublesome life of it ever since.\\nHe cannot hear of a quarrel between the most distant of his\\nneighbors but he begins incontinently to fumble with the head\\nof his cudgel, and consider whether his interest or honor does\\nnot require that he should meddle in the broil. Indeed, he has\\nextended his relations of pride and policy so completely over\\nthe whole country that no event can take place without infring-\\ning some of his finely-spun rights and dignities. Couched in\\nhis little domain, with these filaments stretching forth in every\\ndirection, he is like some choleric, bottle-bellied old spider who has", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0333.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "298 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwoven his web over a whole chamber, so that a fly cannot buzz\\nnor a breeze blow without startling his repose and causing him\\nto sally forth wrathfully from his den.\\nThough really a good-hearted, good-tempered old fellow at\\nbottom, yet he is singularly fond of being in the midst of\\ncontention. It is one of his peculiarities, however, that he only\\nrelishes the beginning of an affray; he always goes into a fight\\nwith alacrity, but comes out of it grumbling even when victori-\\nous; and though no one fights with more obstinacy to carry\\na contested point, yet when the battle is over and he comes to\\nthe reconciliation he is so much taken up with the mere shaking\\nof hands that he is apt to let his antagonist pocket all that they\\nhave been quarrelling about. It is not, therefore, fighting that\\nhe ought so much to be on his guard against as making friends.\\nIt is difficult to cudgel him out of a farthing but put him in a\\ngood humor and you may bargain him out of all the money\\nin his pocket. He is like a stout ship which will weather the\\nroughest storm uninjured, but roll its masts overboard in the\\nsucceeding calm.\\nHe is a little fond of playing the magnifico abroad, of pulling\\nout a long purse, flinging his money bravely about at boxing-\\nmatches, horse-races, cock-fights, and carrying a high head among\\ngentlemen of the fancy but immediately after one of these\\nfits of extravagance he will be taken with violent qualms of\\neconomy; stop short at the most trivial expenditure; talk\\ndesperately of being ruined and brought upon the parish and\\nin such moods will not pay the smallest tradesman s bill without\\nviolent altercation. He is, in fact, the most punctual and\\ndiscontented paymaster in the world, drawing his coin out\\nof his breeches pocket with infinite reluctance, paying to the\\nuttermost farthing, but accompanying every guinea with a\\ngrowl.\\nWith all his talk of economy, however, he is a bountiful\\nprovider and a hospitable housekeeper. His economy is of a", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0334.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "JOHN BULL 299\\nwhimsical kind, its chief object being to devise how he may\\nafford to be extravagant for he will begrudge himself a beef-\\nsteak and a pint of port one day that he may roast an ox\\nwhole, broach a hogshead of ale, and treat all his neighbors\\non the next.\\nHis domestic establishment is enormously expensive, not so\\nmuch from any great outward parade \u00c2\u00abjs from the great con-\\nsumption of solid beef and pudding, the vast number of followers\\nhe feeds and clothes, and his singular disposition to pay hugely\\nfor small services. He is a most kind and indulgent master,\\nand, provided his servants humor his peculiarities, flatter his\\nvanity a little now and then, and do not peculate grossly on\\nhim before his face, they may manage him to perfection.\\nEverything that lives on him seems to thrive and grow fat.\\nHis house-servants are well paid and pampered and have little\\nto do. His horses are sleek and lazy and prance slowly before\\nhis state carriage and his house-dogs sleep quietly about the\\ndoor and will hardly bark at a housebreaker.\\nHis family mansion is an old castellated manor-house, gray\\nwith age, and of a most venerable though weather-beaten\\nappearance. It has been built upon no regular plan, but is\\na vast accumulation of parts erected in various tastes and ages.\\nThe centre bears evident traces of Saxon architecture, and is\\nas solid as ponderous stone and old English oak can make it.\\nLike all the relics of that style, it is full of obscure passages,\\nintricate mazes, and dusty chambers, and, though these have\\nbeen partially lighted up in modern days, yet there are many\\nplaces where you must still grope in the dark. Additions have\\nbeen made to the original edifice from time to time, and great\\nalterations have taken place towers and battlements have\\nbeen erected during wars and tumults: wings built in time\\nof peace and out-houses, lodges, and offices run up according\\nto the whim or convenience of different generations, until it has\\nbecome one of the most spacious, rambling tenements imagi-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0335.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "300 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nnable. An entire wing is taken up with the family chapel,\\na reverend pile that must have been exceedingly sumptuous,\\nand, indeed, in spite of having been altered and simplified\\nat various periods, has still a look of solemn religious pomp.\\nIts walls within are storied with the monuments of John s\\nancestors, and it is snugly fitted up with soft cushions and well-\\nlined chairs, where sucj of his family as are inclined to church\\nservices may doze comfortably in the discharge of their duties.\\nTo keep up this chapel has cost John much money but he\\nis stanch in his religion and piqued in his zeal, from the cir-\\ncumstance that many dissenting chapels have been erected in\\nhis vicinity, and several of his neighbors, with whom he has\\nhad quarrels, are strong papists.\\nTo do the duties of the chapel, he maintains, at a large ex-\\npense, a pious and portly family chaplain. He is a most learned\\nand decorous personage and a truly well-bred Christian, who\\nalways backs the old gentleman in his opinions, winks dis-\\ncreetly at his little peccadilloes, rebukes the children when\\nrefractory, and is of great use in exhorting the tenants to read\\ntheir Bibles, say their prayers, and, above all, to pay their rents\\npunctually and without grumbling.\\nThe family apartments are in a very antiquated taste, some-\\nwhat heavy and often inconvenient, but full of the solemn\\nmagnificence of former times, fitted up with rich though faded\\ntapestry, unwieldy furniture, and loads of massy, gorgeous old\\nplate. The vast fireplaces, ample kitchens, extensive cellars,\\nand sumptuous banqueting-halls all speak of the roaring hospi-\\ntality of days of yore, of which the modern festivity at the\\nmanor-house is but a shadow. There are, however, complete\\nsuites of rooms apparently deserted and time-worn, and towers\\nand turrets that are tottering to decay, so that in high winds\\nthere is danger of their tumbling about the ears of the house-\\nhold.\\nJohn has frequently been advised to have the old edifice", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0336.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "JOHN BULL 301\\nthoroughly overhauled, and to have some of the useless parts\\npulled down, and the others strengthened with their materials\\nbut the old gentleman always grows testy on this subject.\\nHe swears the house is an excellent house that it is tight and\\nweather-proof, and not to be shaken by tempests that it has\\nstood for several hundred years, and therefore is not likely to\\ntumble down now that as to its being inconvenient, his family\\nis accustomed to the inconveniences and would not be comfort-\\nable without them that as to its unwieldy size and irregular\\nconstruction, these result from its being the growth of centu-\\nries and being improved by the wisdom of every generation;\\nthat an old family, like his, requires a large house to dwell in\\nnew, upstart families may live in modern cottages and snug\\nboxes but an old English family should inhabit an old Eng-\\nlish manor-house. If you point out any part of the building\\nas superfluous, he insists that it is material to the strength or\\ndecoration of the rest and the harmony of the whole, and\\nswears that the parts are so built into each other that if you\\npull down one, you run the risk of having the whole about\\nyour ears.\\nThe secret of the matter is, that John has a great disposition\\nto protect and patronize. He thinks it indispensable to the\\ndignity of an ancient and honorable family to be bounteous in\\nits appointments and to be eaten up by dependents and so.\\npartly from pride and partly from kind-heartedness, he makes\\nit a rule always to give shelter and maintenance to his super-\\nannuated servants.\\nThe consequence is, that, like many other venerable family\\nestablishments, his manor is incumbered by old retainers whom\\nhe cannot turn off, and an old style which he cannot lay down.\\nHis mansion is like a great hospital of invalids, and, with all\\nits magnitude, is not a whit too large for its inhabitants. Not\\na nook or corner but is of use in housing some useless personage.\\nGroups of veteran beef eaters, gouty pensioners, and retired", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0337.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "302 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nneroes of the buttery and the larder are seen loJling about its\\nwalls, crawling over its lawns, dozing under its trees, or sunning\\nthemselves upon the benches at its doors. Every office and\\nout-house is garrisoned by these supernumeraries and their\\nfamilies for they are amazingly prolific, and when they die off\\nare sure to leave John a legacy of hungry mouths to be pro\\nvided for. A mattock cannot be struck against the most mould-\\nering tumble-down tower but out pops, from some cranny or\\nloophole, the gray pate of some superannuated hanger-on, who\\nhas lived at John s expense all his life, and makes the most\\ngrievous outcry at their pulling down the roof from over the\\nhead of a worn-out servant of the family. This is an appeal\\nthat John s honest heart never can withstand so that a man\\nwho has faithfully eaten his beef and pudding all his life is\\nsure to be rewarded with a pipe and tankard in his old days.\\nA great part of his park also is turned into paddocks, where\\nhis broken-clown chargers are turned loose to graze undisturbed\\nfor the remainder of their existence a worthy example of\\ngrateful recollection which, if some of his neighbors were to\\nimitate, would not be to their discredit. Indeed, it is one of\\nhis great pleasures to point out these old steeds to his visitors,\\nto dwell on their good qualities, extol their past services, and\\nboast, with some little vain-glory, of the perilous adventures\\nand hardy exploits through which they have carried him.\\nHe is given, however, to indulge his veneration for family\\nusages and family incumbrances to a whimsical extent. His\\nmanor is infested by gangs of gypsies yet he will not suffer\\nthem to be driven off, because they have infested the place\\ntime out of mind and been regular poachers upon every genera-\\ntion of the family. He will scarcely permit a dry branch to be\\nlopped from the great trees that surround the house, lest it\\nshould molest the rooks that have bred there for centuries.\\nOwls have taken possession of the dovecote, but they are\\nhereditary owls and must not be disturbed. Swallows have", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0338.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "JOHN BULL 303\\nnearly choked up every chimney with their nests martins build\\nin every frieze and cornice crows flutter about the towers and\\nperch on every weather- cock and old gray- headed rats may be\\nseen in every quarter of the house, running in and out of\\ntheir holes undauntedly in broad daylight. In short, John has\\nsuch a reverence for everything that has been long in the family\\nthat he will not hear even of abuses being reformed, because\\nthey are good old family abuses.\\nAll these whims and habits have concurred woefully to drain\\nthe old gentleman s purse j and as he prrles himself on punctu-\\nality in money matters and wishes to maintain his credit in the\\nneighborhood, they have caused him great perplexity in meeting\\nhis engagements. This, too, has been increased by the alter-\\ncations and heart-burnings which are continually taking place in\\nhis family. His children have been brought up to different call-\\nings and are of different ways of thinking and as they have\\nalways been allowed to speak their minds freely, they do not fail\\nto exercise the privilege most clamorously in the present posture\\nof his affairs. Some stand up for the honor of the race, and are\\nclear that the old establishment should be kept up in all its state,\\nwhatever may be the cost others, who are more prudent and\\nconsiderate, entreat the old gentleman to retrench his expenses\\nand to put his whole system of housekeeping on a more moderate\\nfooting. He has, indeed, at times, seemed inclined to listen to\\ntheir opinions, but their wholesome advice has been completely\\ndefeated by the obstreperous conduct of one of his sons. This\\nis a noisy, rattle-pated fellow, of rather low habits, who neglects\\nhis business to frequent ale-houses is the orator of village\\nclubs and a complete oracle among the poorest of his father s\\ntenants. No sooner does he hear any of his brothers mention\\nreform or retrenchment than up he jumps, takes the words out\\nof their mouths, and roars out for an overturn. When his\\ntongue is once going nothing can stop it. He rants about the\\nroom hectors the old man about his spendthrift practices ridi\u00c2\u00ab", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0339.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "304 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ncules his tastes and pursuits; insists that he shall turn the old\\nservants out of doors, give the broken-down horses to the hounds,\\nsend the fat chaplain packing, and take a field-preacher in his\\nplace nay, that the whole family mansion shall be levelled with\\nthe ground, and a plain one of brick and mortar built in its\\nplace. He rails at every social entertainment and family festiv-\\nity, and skulks away growling to the ale-house whenever an\\nequipage drives up to the door. Though constantly complain-\\ning of the emptiness of his purse, yet he scruples not to spend\\nall his pocket-money in these tavern convocations, and even runs\\nup scores for the liquor over which he preaches about his father s\\nextravagance.\\nIt may readily be imagined how little such thwarting agrees\\nwith the old cavalier s fiery temperament. He has become so\\nirritable from repeated crossings that the mere mention of re-\\ntrenchment or reform is a signal for a brawl between him and\\nthe tavern oracle. As the latter is too sturdy and refractory for\\npaternal discipline, having grown out of all fear of the cudgel,\\nthey have frequent scenes of wordy warfare, which at times run\\nso high that John is fain to call in the aid of his son Tom, an\\nofficer who has served abroad, but is at present living at home\\non half-pay. This last is sure to stand by the old gentleman,\\nright or wrong, likes nothing so much as a racketing, roistering\\nlife, and is ready at a wink or nod to out sabre and flourish it\\nover the orator s head if he dares to array himself against pa-\\nrental authority.\\nThese family dissensions, as usual, have got abroad, and are\\nrare food for scandal in John s neighborhood. People begin to\\nlook wise and shake their heads whenever his affairs are men-\\ntioned. They all hope that matters are not so bad with him\\nas represented but when a man s own children begin to rail at\\nhis extravagance, things must be badly managed. They under-\\nstand he is mortgaged over head and ears and is continually\\ndabbling with money-lenders. He is certainly an open-handed", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0340.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "JOHN BULL 305\\nold gentleman, but they fear he has lived too fast indeed, they\\nnever knew any good come of this fondness for hunting, racing,\\nrevelling, and prize-fighting. In short, Mr. Bull s estate is a\\nvery fine one and has been in the family a long while, but, for all\\nthat, they have known many finer estates come to the hammer/\\nWhat is worst of all, is the effect which these pecuniary em-\\nbarrassments and domestic feuds have had on the poor man him-\\nself. Instead of that jolly round corporation and smug rosy\\nface which he used to present, he has of late become as shrivelled\\nand shrunk as a frost-bitten apple. His scarlet gold-laced waist-\\ncoat, which bellied out so bravely in those prosperous days when\\nhe sailed before the wind, now hangs loosely about him like a\\nmainsail in a calm. His leather breeches are all in folds and\\nwrinkles, and apparently have much ado to hold up the boots\\nthat yawn on both sides of his once sturdy legs.\\nInstead of strutting about as formerly with his three-cornered\\nhat on one side, flourishing his cudgel, and bringing it down\\nevery moment with a hearty thump upon the ground, looking\\nevery one sturdily in the face, and trolling out a stave of a catch\\nor a drinking-song, he now goes about whistling thoughtfully to\\nhimself, with his head drooping down, his cudgel tucked under\\nhis arm, and his hands thrust to the bottom of his breeches\\npockets, which are evidently empty.\\nSuch is the plight of honest John Bull at present, yet for all\\nthis the old fellow s spirit is as tall and as gallant as ever. If\\nyou drop the least expression of sympathy or concern, he takes\\nfire in an instant; swears that he is ^he richest and stoutest\\nfellow in the country talks of laying out large sums to adorn\\nhis house or buy another estate and with a valiant swagger\\nand grasping of his cudgel longs exceedingly to have another\\nbout at quarter-staff.\\nThough there may be something rather whimsical in all this,\\nyet I confess I cannot look upon John s situation without\\nstrong feelings of interest. With all his odd humors and obsti", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0341.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "306 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nnate prejudices he is a sterling-hearted old blade. He may not\\nbe so wonderfully fine a fellow as he thinks himself, but he is\\nat least twice as good as his neighbors represent him. His\\nvirtues are all his own all plain, homebred, and unaffected.\\nHis very faults smack of the raciness of his good qualities.\\nHis extravagance savors of his generosity, his quarrelsomeness\\nof his courage, his credulity of his open faith, his vanity of his\\npride, and his bluntness of his sincerity. They are all the re-\\ndundancies of a rich and liberal character. He is like his own\\noak, rough without, but sound and solid within whose bark\\nabounds with excrescences in proportion to the growth and\\ngrandeur cf the timber; and whose branches make a fearful\\ngroaning and murmuring in the least storm from their very\\nmagnitude and luxuriance. There is something, too, in the\\nappearance of his old family mansion that is extremely poetical\\nand picturesque and as long as it can be rendered comfortably\\nhabitable I should almost tremble to see it meddled with dur-\\ning the present conflict of tastes and opinions. Some of his\\nadvisers are no doubt good architects that might be of service\\nbut many, I fear, are mere levellers, who, when they had once\\ngot to work with their mattocks on this venerable edifice,\\nwould never stop until they had brought it to the ground, and\\nperhaps buried themselves among the ruins. All that I wish\\nis, that John s present troubles may teach him more prudence\\nin future that he may cease to distress his mind about other\\npeople s affairs that he may give up the fruitless attempt to\\npromote the good of his neighbors and the peace and happiness\\nof the world, by dint of the cudgel; that he may remain\\nquietly at home gradually get his house into repair cultivate\\nhis rich estate according to his fancy husband his income\\nif he thinks proper bring his unruly children into order if\\nhe can renew the jovial scenes of ancient prosperity and long\\nenjoy on his paternal lands a green, an honorable, and a merry\\nold age.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0342.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE 307\\nTHE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE\\nMay no wolf e 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 I but, like a spring,\\nLove kept it ever flourishing.\\nHerrick.\\nIn the course of an excursion through one of the remote\\ncounties of England, I had struck into one of those cross-roads\\nthat lead through the more secluded parts of the country, and\\nstopped one afternoon at a village the situation of which was\\nbeautifully rural and retired. There was an air of primitive\\nsimplicity about its inhabitants not to be found in the villages\\nwhich lie on the great coach-roads. I determined to pass the\\nnight there, and, having taken an early dinner, strolled out to\\nenjoy the neighboring scenery.\\nMy ramble, as is usually the case with travellers, soon led me\\nto the church, which stood at a little distance from the village.\\nIndeed, it was an object of some curiosity, its old tower being\\ncompletely overrun with ivy, so that only here and there a jut-\\nting buttress, an angle of gray wall, or a fantastically carved\\nornament peered through the verdant covering. It was a lovely\\nevening. The early part of the day had been dark and showery,\\nbut in the afternoon it had cleared up, and, though sullen clouds\\nstill hung overhead, yet there was a broad tract of golden sky in\\nthe west, from which the setting sun gleamed through the drip-\\nping leaves and lit up all Nature into a melancholy smile. It\\nseemed like the parting hour of a good Christian smiling on the\\nsins and sorrows of the world, and giving, in the serenity of his\\ndecline, an assurance that he will rise again in glory.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0343.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "308 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nI had seated myself on a half-sunken tombstone, and was mua\\ning, as one is apt to do at this sober- though ted hour, on past\\nscenes and early friends on those who were distant and those\\nwho were dead and indulging in that kind of melancholy fan-\\ncying which has in it something sweeter even than pleasure.\\nEvery now and then the stroke of a bell from the neighboring\\ntower fell on my ear its tones were in unison with the scene,\\nand, instead of jarring, chimed in with my feelings and it was\\nsome time before I recollected that it must be tolling the knell\\nof some new tenant of the tomb.\\nPresently I saw a funeral train moving across the village green\\nit wound slowly along a lane, was lost, and reappeared through\\nthe breaks of the hedges, until it passed the place where I was\\nsitting. The pall was supported by young girls dressed in white,\\nand another, about the age of seventeen, walked before, bearing\\na chaplet of white flowers a token that the deceased was a\\nyoung and unmarried female. The corpse w T as followed by the\\nparents. They were a venerable couple of the better order of\\npeasantry. The father seemed to repress his feelings, but his\\nfixed eye, contracted brow, and deeply-furrowed face showed the\\nstruggle that was passing within. His wife hung on his arm,\\nand wept aloud with the convulsive bursts of a mother s sorrow.\\nI followed the funeral into the church. The bier was placed\\nin the centre aisle, and the chaplet of white flowers, with a pair\\nof white gloves, was hung over the seat which the deceased had\\noccupied. Every one knows the soul-subduing pathos of the\\nfuneral service, for who is so fortunate as never to have followed\\nsome one he has loved to the tomb But when performed over\\nthe remains of innocence and beauty, thus laid low in the bloom\\nof existence, what can be more affecting At that simple but\\nmost solemn consignment of the body to the grave Earth\\nto earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust the tears of the\\nyouthful companions of the deceased flowed unrestrained. The\\nfather still seemed to struggle with his feelings, and to comfort", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0344.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE 309\\nhimself with the assurance that the dead are blessed which die\\nin the Lord but the mother only thought of her child as a\\nflower of the field cut down and withered in the midst of its\\nsweetness she was like Rachel, mourning over her children,\\nand would not be comforted.\\nOn returning to the inn I learnt the whole story of the de\\nceased. It was a simple one, and such as has often been told.\\nShe had been the beauty and pride of the village. Her father\\nhad once been an opulent farmer, but was reduced in circum-\\nstances. This was an only child, and brought up entirely at\\nhome in the simplicity of rural life. She had been the pupil\\nof the village pastor, the favorite lamb of his little flock. The\\ngood man watched over her education with paternal care it\\nwas limited and suitable to the sphere in which she was to move,\\nfor he only sought to make her an ornament to her station in\\nlife, not to raise her above it. The tenderness and indulgence\\nof her parents and the exemption from all ordinary occupations\\nhad fostered a natural grace and delicacy of character that ac-\\ncorded with the fragile loveliness of her form. She appeared\\nlike some tender plant of the garden blooming accidentally amid\\nthe hardier natives of the fields.\\nThe superiority of her charms was felt and acknowledged by\\nher companions, but without envy, for it was surpassed by the\\nunassuming gentleness and winning kindness of her manners.\\nIt 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 spots which still\\nretain some vestiges of old English customs. It had its rural\\nfestivals and holiday pastimes, and still kept up some faint\\nobservance of the once popular rites of May. These, indeed", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0345.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "310 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nhad been promoted by its present pastor, who was a lover of\\nold customs and one of those simple Christians that think their\\nmission fulfilled by promoting joy on earth and good- will among\\nmankind. Under his auspices the May-pole stood from year to\\nyear in the centre of the village green on May-day it was deco-\\nrated with garlands and streamers, and a queen or lady of the\\nMay was appointed, as in former times, to preside at the sports\\nand distribute the prizes and rewards. The picturesque situation\\nof the village and the fancifulness of its rustic fetes would often\\nattract the notice of casual visitors. Among these, on one May-day,\\nwas a young officer whose regiment had been recently quartered\\nin the neighborhood. He was charmed with the native taste\\nthat pervaded this village pageant, but, above all, with the\\ndawning loveliness of the queen of May. It was the village\\nfavorite who was crowned with flowers, and blushing and smil-\\ning in all the beautiful confusion of girlish diffidence and de-\\nlight. The artlessness of rural habits enabled him readily to\\nmake her acquaintance; he gradually won his way into her\\nintimacy, and paid his court to her in that unthinking way in\\nwhich young officers are too apt to trifle with rustic simplicity.\\nThere was nothing in his advances to startle or alarm. He\\nnever even talked of love, but there are modes of making it\\nmore eloquent than language, and which convey it subtilely and\\nirresistibly to the heart. The beam of the eye, the tone of the\\nvoice, the thousand tendernesses which emanate from every word\\nand look and action, these form the true eloquence of love,\\nand can always be felt and understood, but never described.\\nCan we wonder that they should readily win a heart young,\\nguileless, and susceptible As to her, she loved almost uncon-\\nsciously she scarcely inquired what was the growing passion\\nthat was absorbing every thought and feeling, or what were to\\nbe its consequences. She, indeed, looked not to the future.\\nWhen present, his looks and words occupied her whole attention\\nwhen absent, she thought but of what had passed at their recent", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0346.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE 311\\ninterview. She would wander with him through the green\\nlanes and rural scenes of the vicinity. He taught her to see\\nnew beauties in Nature; he talked in the language of polite\\nand cultivated life, and breathed into her ear the witcheries of\\nromance and poetry.\\nPerhaps there could not have been a passion between the\\nsexes more pure than this innocent girl s. The gallant figure\\nof her youthful admirer and the splendor of his military attire\\nmight at first have charmed her eye, but it was not these that\\nhad captivated her heart. Her attachment had something in it\\nof idolatry. She looked up to him as to a being of a superior\\norder. She felt in his society the enthusiasm of a mind natu-\\nrally delicate and poetical, and now first awakened to a keen\\nperception of the beautiful and grand. Of the sordid distinctions\\nof rank and fortune she thought nothing it was the difference\\nof intellect, of demeanor, of manners, from those of the rustic\\nsociety to which she had been accustomed, that elevated him in\\nher opinion. She would listen to him with charmed ear and\\ndowncast look of mute delight, and her cheek would mantle\\nwith enthusiasm or if ever she ventured a shy glance of timid\\nadmiration, it was as quickly withdrawn, and she would sigh\\nand blush at the idea of her comparative unworthiness.\\nHer lover was equally impassioned, but his passion was min-\\ngled with feelings of a coarser nature. He had begun the con-\\nnection in levity, for he had often heard his brother-officers\\nboast of their village conquests, and thought some triumph of\\nthe kind necessary to his reputation as a man of spirit. But\\nhe was too full of youthful fervor. His heart had not yet been\\nrendered sufficiently cold and selfish by a wandering and a dissi-\\npated life it caught fire from the very flame it sought to\\nkindle, and before he was aware of the nature of his situation\\nhe became really in love.\\nWhat was he to do 1 There were the old obstacles which so\\nincessantlv occur in these heedless attachments. His rank iu", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0347.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "312 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nlife, the prejudices of titled connections, his dependence upon a\\nproud and unyielding father, all forbade him to think of matri-\\nmony but when he looked down upon this innocent being, so\\ntender and confiding, there was a purity in her manners, a\\nblamelessness in her life, and a beseeching modesty in her looks\\nthat awed down every licentious feeling. In vain did he try\\nto fortify himself by a thousand heartless examples of men\\nof fashion, and to chill the glow of generous sentiment with\\nthat cold derisive levity with which he had heard them talk of\\nfemale virtue whenever he came into her presence she was\\nstill surrounded by that mysterious but impassive charm of\\nvirgin purity in whose hallowed sphere no guilty thought can\\nlive.\\nThe sudden arrival of orders for the regiment to repair to\\nthe Continent completed the confusion of his mind. He re-\\nmained for a short time in a state of the most painful irresolu-\\ntion he hesitated to communicate the tidings until the day for\\nmarching was at hand, when he gave her the intelligence in the\\ncourse of an evening ramble.\\nThe idea of parting had never before occurred to her. It\\nftroke in at once upon her dream of felicity she looked upon\\nit as a sudden and insurmountable evil, and wept with the\\nguileless simplicity of a child. He drew her to his bosom and\\nkissed the tears from her soft cheek nor did he meet with a\\nrepulse, for there are moments of mingled sorrow and tenderness\\nwhich hallow the caresses of affection. He was naturally\\nimpetuous, and the sight of beauty apparently yielding in his\\narms, the confidence of his power over her, and the dread of\\nlosing her forever all conspired to overwhelm his better feelings\\nhe ventured to propose that she should leave her home and be\\nthe companion of his fortunes.\\nHe was quite a novice in seduction, and blushed and faltered\\nat his ow r n baseness but so innocent of mind was his intended\\nvictim that she was at first at a loss to comprehend his mean-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0348.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE 313\\ning, and why she should leave her native village and the humble\\nroof of her parents. When at last the nature of his proposal\\nflashed upon her pure mind, the effect was withering. She did\\nnot weep she did not break forth into reproach she said not\\na word, but she shrunk back aghast as from a viper, gave him a\\nlook of anguish that pierced to his very soul, and, clasping her\\nhands in agony, fled, as if for refuge, to her father s cottage.\\nThe officer retired confounded, humiliated, and repentant.\\nIt is uncertain what might have been the result of the conflict\\nof his feelings, had not his thoughts been diverted by the bustle\\nof departure. New scenes, new pleasures, and new companions\\nsoon dissipated his self-reproach and stifled his tenderness yet,\\namidst the stir of camps, the revelries of garrisons, the array of\\narmies, and even the din of battles, his thoughts would some-\\ntimes steal back to the scenes of rural quiet and village simplicity\\nthe white cottage, the footpath along the silver brook and up\\nthe hawthorn hedge, and the little village maid loitering along\\nit, leaning on his arm and listening to him with eyes beaming\\nwith unconscious affection.\\nThe shock which the poor girl had received in the destruction\\nof all her ideal world had indeed been cruel. Faintings and\\nhysterics had at first shaken her tender frame, and were suc-\\nceeded by a settled and pining melancholy. She had beheld\\nfrom her window the march of the departing troops. She had\\nseen her faithless lover borne off, as if in triumph, amidst the\\nsound of drum and trumpet and the pomp of arms. She strained\\na last aching gaze after him as the morning sun glittered about his\\nfigure and his plume waved in the breeze he passed away like\\na bright vision from her sight, and left her all in darkness.\\nIt would be trite to dwell on the particulars of her after\\nstory. It was, like other tales of love, melancholy. She\\navoided society and wandered out alone in the walks she had\\nmost frequented with her lover. She sought, like the stricken\\ndeer, to weep in silence and loneliness and brood over the barbed", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0349.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "314 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nsorrow that rankled in her soul. Sometimes she would be seen late\\nof an evening sitting in the porch of the village church, and the\\nmilkmaids, returning from the fields, would now and then over-\\nhear her singing some plaintive ditty in the hawthorn walk.\\nShe became fervent in her devotions at church, and as the old\\npeople saw her approach, so wasted away, yet with a hectic\\nbloom and that hallowed air which melancholy diffuses round\\nthe form, they would make way for her as for something\\nspiritual, and looking after her, would shake their heads in\\ngloomy foreboding.\\nShe felt a conviction that she was hastening to the tomb,\\nbut looked forward to it as a place of rest. The silver cord\\nthat had bound her to existence was loosed, and there seemed\\nto be no more pleasure under the sun. If ever her gentle\\nbosom had entertained resentment against her lover, it was\\nextinguished. She was incapable of angry passions, and in\\na moment of saddened tenderness she penned him a farewell\\nletter. It was couched in the simplest language, but touching\\nfrom its very simplicity. She told him that she was dying,\\nand did not conceal from him that his conduct was the cause.\\nShe even depicted the sufferings which she had experienced, but\\nconcluded with saying that she could not die in peace until she\\nhad sent him her forgiveness and her blessing.\\nBy degrees her strength declined that she could no longer\\nleave the cottage. She could only totter to the window, where,\\npropped up in her chair, it was her enjoyment to sit all day\\nand look out upon the landscape. Still she uttered no com-\\nplaint nor imparted to any one the malady that was preying on\\nher heart. She never even mentioned her lover s name, but would\\nlay her head on her mother s bosom and weep in silence. Her\\npoor parents hung in mute anxiety over this fading blossom of\\ntheir hopes, still flattering themselves that it might again revive\\nto freshness and that the bright unearthly bloom which some-\\ntimes flushed her cheek might be the promise of returning health.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0350.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE 315\\nIn this way she was seated between them one Sunday after-\\nnoon her hands were clasped in theirs, the lattice was thrown\\nopen, and the soft air that stole in brought with it the fragrance\\nof the clustering honeysuckle which her own hands had trained\\nround the window.\\nHer father had just been reading a chapter in the Bible it\\nspoke of the vanity of worldly things and of the joys of heaven\\nit seemed to have diffused comfort and serenity through her bosom.\\nHer eye was fixed on the distant village church the bell had\\ntolled for the evening service the last villager was lagging into\\nthe porch, and everything had sunk into that hallowed stillness\\npeculiar to the day of rest. Her parents were gazing on her\\nwith yearning hearts. Sickness and sorrow, which pass so\\nroughly over some faces, had given to hers the expression of a\\nseraph s. A tear trembled in her soft blue eye. Was she\\nthinking of her faithless lover or were her thoughts wandering\\nto that distant churchyard, into whose bosom she might soon\\nbe gathered?\\nSuddenly the clang of hoofs was heard a horseman galloped\\nto the cottage he dismounted before the window the poor\\ngirl gave a faint exclamation and sunk back in her chair\\nit was her repentant lover. He rushed into the house and flew\\nto clasp her to his bosom but her wasted form, her deathlike\\ncountenance so wan, yet so lovely in its desolation smote\\nhim to the soul, and he threw himself in agony at her feet.\\nShe was too faint to rise she attempted to extend her trem-\\nbling hand her lips moved as if she spoke, but no word was\\narticulated she looked down upon him with a smile of unutter-\\nable tenderness, and closed her eyes forever.\\nSuch are the particulars which I gathered of this village\\nstory. They are but scanty, and I am conscious have little\\nnovelty to recommend them. In the present rage also for\\nstrange incident and high-seasoned narrative they may appear\\ntrite and insignificant, but they interested me strongly at the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0351.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "316 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ntime, and, taken in connection with the affecting ceremonj\\nwhich I had just witnessed, left a deeper impression on my\\nmind than many circumstances of a more striking nature. I\\nhave passed through the place since, and visited the church\\nagain from a better motive than mere curiosity. It was a win-\\ntry evening the trees were stripped of their foliage, the church-\\nyard looked naked and mournful, and the wind rustled coldly\\nthrough the dry grass. Evergreens, however, had been planted\\nabout the grave of the village favorite, and osiers were bent\\nover it to keep the turf uninjured.\\nThe church-door was open and I stepped in. There hung the\\nchaplet of flowers and the gloves, as on the day of the funeral\\nthe flowers were withered, it is true, but care seemed to have\\nbeen taken that no dust should soil their whiteness. I have\\nseen many monuments where art has exhausted its powers to\\nawaken the sympathy of the spectator, but I have met with\\nnone that spoke more touchingly to my heart than this simple\\nbut delicate memento of departed innocence.\\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.\\nSir H. Wotton-\\nIt is said that many an unlucky urchin is induced to run\\naway from his family and betake himself to a seafaring life\\nfrom reading the history of Robinson Crusoe; and I suspect\\nthat, in like manner, many of those worthy gentlemen who are", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0352.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "THE ANGLER 317\\ngiven to haunt the sides of pastoral streams with angle-rods in\\nhand may trace the origin of their passion to the seductive\\npages of honest Izaak Walton. I recollect studying his Com-\\nplete Angler several years since in company with a knot of\\nfriends in America, and moreover that we were. all completely\\nbitten with the angling mania. It was early in the year, but\\nas soon as the weather was auspicious, and that the spring\\nbegan to melt into the verge of summer, we took rod in hand\\nand sallied into the country, as stark mad as was ever Don\\nQuixote from reading books of chivalry.\\nOne of our party had equalled the Don in the fulness of his\\nequipments, being attired cap-a-pie for the enterprise. He\\nwore a broad-skirted fustian coat, perplexed with half a hun-\\ndred pockets a pair of stout shoes and leathern gaiters a\\nbasket slung on one side for fish a patent rod, a landing net,\\nand a score of other inconveniences only to be found in the true\\nangler s armory. Thus harnessed for the field, he was as great\\na matter of stare and wonderment among the country folk, who\\nhad never seen a regular angler, as was the steel-clad hero of La\\nMancha among the goatherds of the Sierra Morena.\\nOur first essay was along a mountain brook among the High-\\nlands of the Hudson a most unfortunate place for the execu-\\ntion of those piscatory tactics which had been invented along\\nthe velvet margins of quiet English rivulets. It was one of\\nthose wild streams that lavish, among our romantic solitudes,\\nunheeded beauties enough to fill the sketch-book of a hunter\\nof the picturesque. Sometimes it would leap down rocky\\nshelves, making small cascades, over which the trees threw\\ntheir broad balancing sprays, and long nameless weeds hung\\nin fringes from the impending banks, dripping with diamond\\ndrops. Sometimes it would brawl and fret along a ravine\\nin the matted shade of a forest, filling it with murmurs, and\\nafter this termagant career would steal forth into open day with\\nthe most placid, demure face imaginable, as I have seen some", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0353.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "318 THE SKETCH BOOK\\npestilent shrew of a housewife, after filling her home with uproa\\\\\\nand ill-humor, come dimpling out of doors, swimming and curt-\\nseying and smiling upon all the world.\\nHow smoothly would this vagrant brook glide at such times\\nthrough some bosom of green meadow-land among the mountains,\\nwhere the quiet was only interrupted by the occasional tinkling\\nof a bell from the lazy cattle among the clover or the sound of\\na woodcutter s axe from the neighboring forest\\nFor my part, I was always a bungler at all kinds of sport\\nthat required either patience or adroitness, and had not angled\\nabove half an hour before I had completely satisfied the senti-\\nment, and convinced myself of the truth of Izaak Walton s\\nopinion, that angling is something like poetry a man must be\\nborn to it. I hooked myself instead of the fish, tangled my line\\nin every tree, lost my bait, broke my rod, until I gave up the\\nattempt in despair, and passed the day under the trees reading\\nold Izaak, satisfied that it was his fascinating vein of honest\\nsimplicity and rural feeling that had bewitched me, and not the\\npassion for angling. My companions, however, were more per-\\nsevering in their delusion. I have them at this moment before\\nmy eyes, stealing along the border of the brook where it lay open\\nto the day or was merely fringed by shrubs and bushes. I see\\nthe bittern rising with hollow scream as they break in upon his\\nrarely-invaded haunt the kingfisher watching them suspiciously\\nfrom his dry tree that overhangs the deep black mill-pond in the\\ngorge of the hills the tortoise letting himself slip sideways from\\noff the stone or log on which he is sunning himself; and the\\npanic-struck frog plumping in headlong as they approach, and\\nspreading an alarm throughout the watery world around.\\nI recollect also that, after toiling and watching and creeping\\nabout for the greater part of a day, with scarcely any success in\\nspite of all our admirable apparatus, a lubberly country urchin\\ncame down from the hills with a rod made from a branch of a\\ntree, a few yards of twine, and, as Heaven shall help me J", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0354.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "THE ANGLER 319\\nbelieve a crooked pin for a hook, baited with a vile earthworm,\\nand in half an hour caught more fish than we had nibbles\\nthroughout the day!\\nBut, above all, I recollect the good, honest, wholesome,\\nhungry repast which we made under a beech tree just by a\\nspring of pure sweet water that stole out of the side of a hill,\\nand how, when it was over, one of the party read old Izaak\\nWalton s scene with the milkmaid, while I lay on the grass and\\nbuilt castles in a bright pile of clouds until I fell asleep. All\\nthis may appear like mere egotism, yet I cannot refrain from\\nuttering these recollections, which are passing like a strain of\\nmusic over my mind and have been called up by an agreeable\\nscene which I witnessed not long since.\\nIn the morning s stroll along the banks of the Alun, a beauti-\\nful little stream which flows down from the Welsh hills and\\nthrows itself into the Dee, my attention was attracted to a\\ngroup seated on the margin. On approaching I found it to\\nconsist of a veteran angler and two rustic disciples. The for-\\nmer was an old fellow with a wooden leg, with clothes very\\nmuch but very carefully patched, betokening poverty honestly\\ncome by and decently maintained. His face bore the marks of\\nformer storms, but present fair weather; its furrows had been\\nworn into an habitual smile, his iron-gray locks hung about his\\nears, and he had altogether the good-humored air of a constitu-\\ntional philosopher who was disposed to take the world as it\\nwent. One of his companions was a ragged wight with the\\nskulking look of an arrant poacher, and I ll warrant could find\\nhis way to any gentleman s fish-pond in the neighborhood in\\nthe darkest night. The other was a tall, awkward country lad,\\nwith a lounging gait, and apparently somewhat of a rustic beau.\\nThe old man was busy in examining the maw of a trout which\\nhe had just killed, to discover by its contents what insects were\\nseasonable for bait, and was lecturing on the subject to his\\ncompanions, who appeared to listen with infinite deference, X", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0355.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "320 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nnave a kind feeling towards all brothers of the angle evei\\nsince I read Izaak Walton. They are men, he affirms, of a\\nmild, sweet, and peaceable spirit and my esteem for them\\nhas been increased since I met with an old Tretyse of fishing\\nwith the Angle, in which are set forth many of the maxims of\\ntheir inoffensive fraternity. Take good hede, sayeth this\\nhonest little tretyse, that in going about your disportes ye\\nopen no man s gates but that ye shet them again. Also ye\\nshall not use this forsayl crafti disport for no covetousness to\\nthe eucreasing and sparing of your money only, but principally\\nfor your solace, and to cause the helth of your body and specyally\\nof your soule.\\nI thought that I could perceive in the veteran angler before\\nme an exemplification of what I had read and there was a\\ncheerful contentedness in his looks that quite drew me towards\\nhim. I could not but remark the gallant manner in which he\\nstumped from one part of the brook to another, waving his rod\\nin the air to keep the line from dragging on the ground or\\ncatching among the bushes, and the adroitness with which he\\nwould throw his fly to any particular place, sometimes skimming\\nit lightly along a little rapid, sometimes casting it into one of\\nthose dark holes made by a twisted root or overhanging bank\\nin which the large trout are apt to lurk. In the meanwhile he\\nwas giving instructions to his two disciples, showing them the\\nmanner in which they should handle their rods, fix their flies,\\nand play them along the surface of the stream. The scene\\nbrought to my mind the instructions of the sage Piscator to his\\nscholar. The country around was of that pastoral kind which\\nWalton is fond of describing. It was a part of the great plain\\nof Cheshire, close by the beautiful vale of Gessford, and just\\nwhere the inferior Welsh hills begin to swell up from among\\nfresh-smelling meadows. The day too, like that recorded in his\\nwork, was mild and sunshiny, with now and then a soft-drop-\\nping shower that sowed the whole earth with diamonds.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0356.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "THE ANGLER 321\\n1 soon fell into conversation with the old angler, and was so\\nmuch entertained, that, under pretext of receiving instructions\\nin his art, I kept company with him almost the whole day,\\nwandering along the banks of the stream and listening to his\\ntalk. He was very communicative, having all the easy garru-\\nlity of cheerful old age, and I fancy was a little flattered by\\nhaving an opportunity of displaying his piscatory lore, for who\\ndoes not like now and then to play the sage\\nHe had been much of a rambler in his day, and had passed\\nsome years of his youth in America, particularly in Savannah,\\nwhere he had entered into trade and had been ruined by the\\nindiscretion of a partner. He had afterwards experienced many\\nups and downs in life until Jie got into the navy, where his leg\\nwas carried away by a cannon-ball at the battle of Camperdown.\\nThis was the only stroke of real good-fortune he had ever ex-\\nperienced, for it got him a pension, which, together with some\\nsmall paternal property, brought him in a revenue of nearly\\nforty pounds. On this he retired to his native village, where\\nhe lived quietly and independently, and devoted the remainder\\nof his life to the noble art of angling.\\nI found that he had read Izaak Walton attentively, and he\\nseemed to have imbibed all his simple frankness and prevalent\\ngood-humor. Though he had been sorely buffeted about the\\nworld, he was satisfied that the world, in itself, was good and\\nbeautiful. Though he had been as roughly used in different\\ncountries as a poor sheep that is fleeced by every hedge and\\nthicket, yet he spoke of every nation with candor and kind-\\nness, appearing to look only on the good side of things\\nand, above all, he was almost the only man I had ever met\\nwith who had been an unfortunate adventurer in America\\nand had honesty and magnanimity enough to take the fault\\nto his own door, and not to curse the country. The lad\\nthat was receiving his instructions, I learnt, was the son and\\nheir-apparent of a fat old widow who kept the village inn, and", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0357.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "322 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nof course a youth of some expectation, and much courted by the\\nidle gentleman-like personages of the place. In taking him\\nunder his care, therefore, the old man had probably an eye to a\\nprivileged corner in the tap-room and an occasional cup of cheer-\\nful ale free of expense.\\nThere is certainly something in angling if we could forget,\\nwhich anglers are apt to do, the cruelties and tortures inflicted\\non worms and insects that tends to produce a gentleness of\\nspirit and a pure serenity of mind. As the English are method-\\nical even in their recreations, and are the most scientific of\\nsportsmen, it has been reduced among them to perfect rule and\\nsystem. Indeed, it is an amusement peculiarly adapted to the\\nmild and highly-cultivated scenery of England, where every\\nroughness has been softened away from the landscape. It is\\ndelightful to saunter along those limpid streams which wander,\\nlike veins of silver, through the bosom of this beautiful country,\\nleading one through a diversity of small home scenery some-\\ntimes winding through ornamented grounds; sometimes brim-\\nming along through rich pasturage, where the fresh green is\\nmingled with sweet-smelling flowers; sometimes venturing in\\nsight of villages and hamlets, and then running capriciously\\naway into shady retirements. The sweetness and serenity of\\nNature and the quiet watchfulness of the sport gradually bring\\non pleasant fits of musing, which are now and then agreeably\\ninterrupted by the song of a bird, the distant whistle of the\\npeasant, or perhaps the vagary of some fish leaping out of the\\nstill water and skimming transiently about its glassy surface.\\nWhen I would beget content, says Izaak Walton, and in-\\ncrease confidence in the power and wisdom and providence of\\nAlmighty God, I will walk the meadows by some gliding stream,\\nand there contemplate the lilies that take no care, and those\\nvery many other little living creatures that are not only created,\\nbut feed (man knows not how) by the goodness of the God ot\\nNature, and therefore trust in Him.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0358.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "THE ANGLER 323\\nI cannot forbear to give another quotation from one of those\\nancient champions of angling which breathes the same innocent\\n3,nd happy 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 some men strive ill-gotten goods t embrace c\\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 green 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 after his place oi\\nAbode, and, happening to be in the neighborhood of the village\\na few evenings afterwards, I had the curiosity to seek him out.\\nI found him living in a small cottage containing only one room,\\nbut a perfect curiosity in its method and arrangement. It was\\non the skirts of the village, on a green bank a little back from\\nthe road, with a small garden in front stocked with kitchen\\nherbs and adorned with a few flowers. The whole front of the\\ncottage was overrun with a honeysuckle. On the top was a\\nship for a weathercock. The interior was fitted up in a truly\\nnautical style, his ideas of comfort and convenience having been\\nacquired on the berth-deck of a man-of-war. A hammock was\\nslung from the ceiling which in the daytime was lashed up so\\nas to take but little room. From the centre of the chamber\\nhung a model of a ship, of his own workmanship. Two or\\nthree chairs, a table, and a large sea-chest formed the principal\\nmovables. About the wall were stuck up naval ballads, such\\nas Admiral Hosier s Ghost, All in the Downs, and Tom\\nBowling, intermingled with pictures of sea-fights, among which", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0359.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "324 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nthe battle of Camperdown held a distinguished place. The\\nmantelpiece was decorated with sea-shells, over which hung a\\nquadrant, flanked by two wood-cuts of most bitter-looking naval\\ncommanders. His implements for angling were carefully dis-\\nposed on nails and hooks about the room. On a shelf was\\narranged his library, containing a work on angling, much worn,\\na Bible covered with canvas, an odd volume or two of voyages,\\na nautical almanac, and a book of songs.\\nHis family consisted of a large black cat with one eye, and\\na parrot which he had caught and tamed and educated himself\\nin the course of one of his voyages, and which uttered a variety\\nof sea-phrases with the hoarse brattling tone of a veteran boat-\\nswain. The establishment reminded me of that of the re-\\nnowned Robinson Crusoe it was kept in neat order, everything\\nbeing stowed away with the regularity of a ship of war;\\nand he informed me that he scoured the deck every morning\\nand swept it between meals.\\nI found him seated on a bench before the door, smoking his\\npipe in the soft evening sunshine. His cat was purring soberly\\non the threshold, and his parrot describing some strange evolu*\\ntions in an iron ring that swung in the centre of his cage. He\\nhad been angling all day, and gave me a history of his sport\\nwith as much minuteness as a general would talk over a cam*\\npaign, being particularly animated in relating the manner in\\nwhich he had taken a large trout, which had completely tasked\\nall his skill and wariness, and which he had sent as a trophy\\nto mine hostess of the inn.\\nHow comforting it is to see a cheerful and contented old age,\\nand to behold a poor fellow like this, after being tempest-tost\\nthrough life, safely moored in a snug and quiet harbor in the\\nevening of his days His happiness, however, sprung from\\nwithin himself and was independent of external circumstances,\\nfor he had that inexhaustible good-nature which is the most\\nprecious gift of Heaven, spreading itself like oil over the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0360.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "THE ANGLER 325\\ntroubled sea of thought, and keeping the mind smooth and\\nequable in the roughest weather.\\nOn inquiring further about him, I learnt that he was a uni\\nversal favorite in the village and the oracle of the tap-room 5\\nwhere he delighted the rustics with his songs, and, like Sindbad,\\nastonished them with his stories of strange lands and ship-\\nwrecks and sea-fights. He was much noticed too by gentlemen\\nsportsmen of the neighborhood, had taught several of them the\\nart of angling, and was a privileged visitor to their kitchens.\\nThe whole tenor of his life was quiet and inoffensive, being prin-\\ncipally passed about the neighboring streams when the weathei\\nand season were favorable and at other times he employed him-\\nself at home, preparing his fishing-tackle for the next campaign or\\nmanufacturing rods, nets, and flies for his patrons and pupils\\namong the gentry.\\nHe was a regular attendant at church on Sundays, though\\nhe generally fell asleep during the sermon. He had made it\\nhis particular request that when he died he should be buried in\\na green spot which he could see from his seat in church, and\\nwhich he had marked out ever since he was a boy, and had\\nthought of when far from home on the raging sea in danger of\\nbeing food for the fishes it was the spot where his father and\\nmother had been buried.\\nI have done, for I fear that my reader is growing weary, but\\nI could not refrain from drawing the picture of this worthy\\nbrother of the angle, who has made me more than ever in\\nlove with the theory, though I fear I shall never be adroit in\\nthe practice, of his art and I will conclude this rambling sketch\\nin the word s of honest Izaak Walton, by craving the blessing of\\nSt. Peter s Master upon my reader, and upon all that are true\\nlovers of virtue, and dare trust in His providence, and be quiet\\nand go a-angling.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0361.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "326 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nTHE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW\\nFOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKER\\nBOCKER\\nA pleasing land of drowsy-head it was,\\nOf dreams that wave before the half-shut eye\\nAnd of gay castles in the clouds that pass,\\nFor ever flushing round a summer sky.\\nCastle of Indolence.\\nIn the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the\\neastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river\\ndenominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee,\\nand where they always prudently shortened sail and implored\\nthe protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a\\nsmall market- town or rural port which by some is called Greens-\\nburg, but which is more generally and properly known by the\\nname of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in\\nformer days by the good housewives of the adjacent country\\nfrom the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about\\nthe village tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not\\nvouch for the fact, but merely advert to it for the sake of being\\nprecise and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps about\\ntwo miles, there is a little valley, or rather lap of land, among\\nhigh hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world.\\nA small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to\\nlull one to repose, and the occasional whistle of a quail or tap-\\nping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks\\nin upon the uniform tranquillity.\\nI recollect that when a stripling my first exploit in squirrel-\\nshooting was in a grove of tall walnut trees that shades one side\\nof the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime, when all", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0362.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 327\\nNature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my\\nown gun as it broke the Sabbath stillness around and was pro-\\nlonged and reverberated by the angry echoes. If ever I should\\nwish for a retreat whither I might steal from the world and its\\ndistractions and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled\\nlife, I know of none more promising than this little valley.\\nFrom the listless repose of the place and the peculiar character\\nof its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch\\nsettlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name\\nof Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy\\nHollow Boys throughout all the neighboring country. A\\ndrowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land and to\\npervade the very atmosphere. Some say that the place was\\nbewitched by a High German doctor during the early days of\\nthe settlement others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or\\nwizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the country\\nwas discovered by Master Hentlrick Hudson. Certain it is, the\\nplace still continues under the sway of some witching power that\\nholds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to\\nwalk in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of\\nmarvellous beliefs, are subject to trances and visions, and fre-\\nquently see strange sights and hear music and voices in the air.\\nThe whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots,\\nand twilight superstitions stars shoot and meteors glare oftener\\nacross the valley than in any other part of the country, and the\\nnightmare, with her whole ninefold, seems to make it the favor-\\nite scene of her gambols.\\nThe dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted\\nregion, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers\\nof the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a\\nhead. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper\\nwhose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball in some\\nnameless battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever\\nand anon seen by the country-folk hurrying along in the gloom", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0363.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": "328 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nof night as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not\\nconfined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads,\\nand especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance.\\nIndeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts,\\nwho have been careful in collecting and collating the floating\\nfacts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper,\\nhaving been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to\\nthe scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that the\\nrushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow,\\nlike a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated and in a\\nhurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.\\nSuch is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which\\nhas furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of\\nshadows and the spectre is known at all the country firesides\\nby the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.\\nIt is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have men-\\ntioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley,\\nbut is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides there for\\na time. However wide awake they may have been before they\\nentered that sleepy region, they are sure in a little time to in-\\nhale the witching influence of the air and begin to grow imagi-\\nnative to dream dreams and see apparitions.\\nI mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud, for it is\\nin such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there em-\\nbosomed in the great State of New York, that population, man-\\nners, and customs remain fixed, while the great torrent of\\nmigration and improvement, which is making such incessant\\nchanges in other parts of this restless country, sweeps by them\\nunobserved. They are like those little nooks of still water which\\nborder a rapid stream where we may see the straw and bubble\\nriding quietly at anchor or slowly revolving in their mimic har-\\nbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. Though\\nmany years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of\\nSleepy Hollow, yet I question whether I should not still find", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0364.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 829\\nthe same trees and the same families vegetating in its sheltered\\nbosom.\\nIn this by-place of Nature there abode, in a remote period of\\nAmerican history that is to say, some thirty years since a\\nworthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or,\\nas he expressed it, tarried, in Sleepy Hollow for the purpose\\nof instructing the children of the vicinity. He was a native of\\nConnecticut, a State which supplies the Union with pioneers for\\nthe mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its\\nlegions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters. The\\ncognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was\\ntall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and\\nlegs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that\\nmight have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely\\nhung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge\\nears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snip nose, so that it\\nlooked like a weathercock perched upon his spindle neck to tell\\nwhich way the wind blew. To see him striding along the pro-\\nfile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and flut-\\ntering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius\\nof Famine descending upon the earth or some scarecrow eloped\\nfrom a cornfield.\\nHis school-house was a low building of one large room, rudely\\nconstructed of logs, the windows partly glazed and partly\\npatched with leaves of old copy-books. It was most ingeniously\\nsecured at vacant hours by a withe twisted in the handle of the\\ndoor and stakes set against the window-shutters, so that, though\\na thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some em-\\nbarrassment in getting out an idea most probably borrowed\\nby the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eel-\\npot. The school-house stood in a rather lonely but pleasant\\nsituation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running\\nclose by and a formidable birch tree growing at one end of it.\\nFrom hence the low murmur of his pupils voices, conning ovet", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0365.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": "330 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ntheir lessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer s day like tht\\nhum of a bee-hive, interrupted now and then by the authorita-\\ntive voice of the master in the tone of menace or command, or,\\nperadventure, by the appalling sound of the birch as he urged\\nsome tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth\\nto say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the\\ngolden maxim, Spare the rod and spoil the child. Ichabod\\nCrane s scholars certainly were not spoiled.\\nI would not have it imagined, however, that he was one of\\nthose cruel potentates of the school w T ho joy in the smart of\\ntheir subjects; on the contrary, he administered justice with\\ndiscrimination rather than severity, taking the burden off the\\nbacks of the weak and laying it on those of the strong. Your\\nmere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish of the\\nrod, was passed by with indulgence but the claims of justice\\nwere satisfied by inflicting a double portion on some little\\ntough, wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked\\nand swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch.\\nAll this he called doing his duty by their parents and he\\nnever inflicted a chastisement without following it by the assur-\\nance, so consolatory to the smarting urchin, that he would\\nremember it and thank him for it the longest day he had to\\nlive.\\nWhen school-hours were over he was even the companion\\nand playmate of the larger boys, and on holiday afternoons\\nwould convoy some of the smaller ones home w T ho happened\\nto have pretty sisters or good housewives for mothers noted for\\nthe comforts of the cupboard. Indeed it behooved him to keep\\non good terms with his pupils. The revenue arising from his\\nschool w r as small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to\\nfurnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and,\\nthough lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda but to\\nhelp out his maintenance he was, according to country custom\\nin those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0366.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 331\\nwhose children he instructed. With these he lived successively\\na week at a time, thus going the rounds of the neighborhood\\nwith all his worldly effects tied up in a cotton handkerchief.\\nThat all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his\\nrustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of schooling\\na grievous burden and schoolmasters as mere drones, he had\\nvarious ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable.\\nHe assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter labors of\\ntheir farms, helped to make hay, mended the fences, took the\\nhorses to water, drove the cows from pasture, and cut wood for\\nthe winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the dominant dignity\\nand absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little empire,\\nthe school, and became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating.\\nHe found favor in the eyes of the mothers by petting the\\nchildren, particularly the youngest; and like the lion bold,\\nwhich whilom so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he would\\nsit with a child on one knee and rock a cradle with his foot for\\nwhole hours together.\\nIn addition to his other vocations, he was the singing-master\\nof the neighborhood and picked up many bright shillings by\\ninstructing the young folks in psalmody. It was a matter of\\nno little vanity to him on Sundays to take his station in front\\nof the church-gallery with a band of chosen singers, where, in\\nhis own mind, he completely carried away the palm from the\\nparson. Certain it is, his voice resounded far above all the\\nrest of the congregation, and there are peculiar quavers still\\nto be heard in that church, and which may even be heard half\\na mile off, quite to the opposite side of the mill-pond on a still\\nSunday morning, which are said to be legitimately descended\\nfrom the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by divers little make-\\nshifts in that ingenious way which is commonly denominated\\nby hook and by crook, the worthy pedagogue got on tolera-\\nbly enough, and was thought, by all who understood nothing\\nof the labor of headwork, to have a wonderfully easy life of it", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0367.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "332 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nThe schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in\\nthe female circle of a rural neighborhood, being considered a\\nkind of idle, gentleman-like personage of vastly superior taste\\nand accomplishments to the rough country swains, and, indeed,\\ninferior in learning only to the parson. His appearance, there-\\nfore, is apt to occasion some little stir at the tea-table of a\\nfarmhouse and the addition of a supernumerary dish of cakes\\nor sweetmeats, or, perad venture, the parade of a silver tea-pot.\\nOur man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the\\nsmiles of all the country damsels. How he would figure among\\nthem in the churchyard between services on Sundays, gathering\\ngrapes for them from the wild vines that overrun the surround-\\ning trees; reciting for their amusement all the epitaphs on the\\ntombstones; or sauntering, with a whole bevy of them, along\\nthe banks of the adjacent mill-pond, while the more bashful\\ncountry bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior\\nelegance and address.\\nFrom his half-itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling\\ngazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house\\nto house, so that his appearance was always greeted with satis-\\nfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man\\nof great erudition, for he had read several books quite through,\\nand was a perfect master of Cotton Mather s History of New\\nEngland Witchcraft, in which, by the way, he most firmly\\nand potently believed.\\nHe was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and\\nsimple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous and his\\npowers of digesting it were equally extraordinary, and both had\\nbeen increased by his residence in this spellbound region. No\\ntale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. It\\nwas often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the\\nafternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover border-\\ning the little brook that whimpe red by his school-house, and\\nthere con over old Mather s direful tales until the gathering", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0368.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 333\\ndusk of the evening made the printed page a mere mist before\\nhis eyes. Then, as he wended his way by swamp and stream\\nand awful woodland to the farmhouse where he happened to be\\nquartered, every sound of Nature at that witching hour flut-\\ntered his excited imagination the moan of the whip-poor-will\\nfrom the hillside the boding cry of the tree-toad, that har-\\nbinger of storm the dreary hooting of the screech-owl, or the\\nsudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their\\nroost. The fire-flies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the\\ndarkest places, now and then startled him as one of uncommon\\nbrightness would stream across his path and if, by chance, a\\nhuge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight\\nagainst him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost,\\nwith the idea that he was struck with a witch s token. His\\nonly resource on such occasions, either to drown thought or\\ndrive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes and the good\\npeople of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an even-\\ning, were often filled with awe at hearing his nasal melody, in\\nlinked sweetness long drawn out, floating from the distant hill\\nor along the dusky road.\\nAnother of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long\\nwinter evenings with the old Dutch wives as they sat spinning\\nby the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along\\nthe hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and\\ngoblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted\\nbridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless\\nhorseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they some-\\ntimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anec-\\ndotes of witchcraft and of the direful omens and portentous sights\\nand sounds in the air which prevailed in the earlier times of\\nConnecticut, and would frighten them woefully with specula-\\ntions upon comets and shooting stars, and with the alarming\\nfact that the world did absolutely turn round and that they\\nwere half the time topsy-turvv.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0369.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "334 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nBut if there was a pleasure iu all this while snugly cuddling\\nin the chimney-corner of a chamber that was all of a ruddy\\nglow from the crackling wood-fire, and where, of course, no\\nspectre dared to show its face, it was dearly purchased by the\\nterrors of his subsequent walk homewards. What fearful\\nshapes and shadows beset his path amidst the dim and ghastly\\nglare of a snowy night With what wistful look did he eye\\nevery trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields\\nfrom some distant window How often was he appalled by\\nsome shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre,\\nbeset his very path How often did he shrink with curdling\\nawe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath\\nhis feet, and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should\\nbehold some uncouth being tramping close behind him And\\nhow often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rush-\\ning blast howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the\\nGalloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings\\nAll these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms\\nof the mind that walk in darkness and though he had seen\\nmany spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by\\nSatan in divers shapes in his lonely perambulations, yet day-\\nlight put an end to all these evils and he would have passed\\na pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works,\\nif his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more\\nperplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole\\nrace of witches put together, and that was a woman.\\nAmong the musical disciples who assembled one evening in\\neach week to receive his instructions in psalmody was Katrina\\nVan Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch\\nfarmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen, plump as\\na partridge, ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her\\nfather s peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her\\nbeauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a little of\\na coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0370.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 335\\nwas a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited\\nto set off her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow\\ngold which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from\\nSaardam, the tempting stomacher of the olden time, and withal\\na provokingly short petticoat to display the prettiest foot and\\nankle in the country round.\\nIchabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the sex,\\nand it is not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon\\nfound favor in his eyes, more especially after he had visited her\\nin her paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect\\npicture of a thriving, contented, liberal- hearted farmer. He\\nseldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts beyond the\\nboundaries of his own farm, but within those everything was\\nsnug, happy, and well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his\\nwealth, but not proud of it, and piqued himself upon the\\nhearty abundance, rather than the style, in which he lived.\\nHis stronghold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, in\\none ot those green, sheltered, fertile nooks in which the Dutch\\nfarmers are so fond of nestling. A great elm tree spread its\\nbroad branches over it, at the foot of which bubbled up a\\nspring of the softest and sweetest water in a little well formed\\nof a barrel, and then stole sparkling away through the grass\\nto a neighboring brook that bubbled along among alders and\\ndwarf willows. Hard by the farmhouse was a vast barn, that\\nmight have served for a church, every window and crevice of\\nwhich seemed bursting forth with the treasures of the farm;\\nthe flail was busily resounding within it from morning to\\nnight; swallows and martins skimmed twittering about the\\neaves and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as\\nif watching the weather, some with their heads under their\\nwings or buried in their bosoms, and others, swelling, and\\ncooing, and bowing about their dames, were enjoying the sun-\\nshine on the roof. Sleek, unwieldy porkers were grunting in the\\nrepose and abundance of their pens, whence sallied forth, now", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0371.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "336 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nand then, troops of sucking pigs as if to snuff the air. A\\nstately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining\\npond, convoying whole fleets of ducks regiments of turkeys\\nwere gobbling through the farmyard, and guinea-fowls fretting\\nabout it, like ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish, dis-\\ncontented cry. Before the barn-door strutted the gallant cock,\\nthat pattern of a husband, a warrior, and a fine gentleman,\\nclapping his burnished wings and crowing in the pride and\\ngladness of his heart sometimes tearing up the earth with\\nhis feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family\\nof wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had\\ndiscovered.\\nThe pedagogue s mouth watered as he looked upon his\\nsumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring\\nmind s eye he pictured to himself every roasting-pig running\\nabout with a pudding in his belly and an apple in his mouth\\nthe pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie and\\ntucked in with a coverlet of crust the geese were swimming in\\ntheir own gravy and the ducks pairing cosily in dishes, like\\nsnug married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce.\\nIn the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon\\nand juicy relishing ham not a turkey but he beheld daintily\\ntrussed up, with its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a\\nnecklace of savory sausages and even bright Chanticleer him-\\nself lay sprawling on his back in a side-dish, with uplifted claws,\\nas if craving that quarter which his chivalrous spirit disdained\\nto ask while living.\\nAs the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled\\nhis great green eyes over the fat meadow-lands, the rich fields\\nof wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the or-\\nchards burdened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm\\ntenement of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel\\nwho was to inherit these domains, and his imagination ex-\\npanded with the idea how they might be readily turned into", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0372.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 33f\\ncash and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land\\nand shingle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy\\nalready realized his hopes, and presented to him the blooming\\nKatrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the top\\nof a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with pots and\\nkettles dangling beneath, and he beheld himself bestriding a\\npacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for Kentucky,\\nTennessee, or the Lord knows where.\\nWhen he entered the house the conquest of his heart was\\ncomplete. It was one of those spacious farmhouses with high-\\nridged but lowly-sloping roofs, built in the style handed down\\nfrom the first Dutch settlers, the low projecting eaves forming\\na piazza along the front capable of being closed up in bad\\nweather. Under this were hung flails, harness, various utensils\\nof husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring river.\\nBenches were built along the sides for summer use, and a great\\nspinning-wheel at one end and a churn at the other showed the\\nvarious uses to which this important porch might be devoted.\\nFrom this piazza the wondering Ichabod entered the hall, which\\nformed the centre of the mansion and the place of usual resi-\\ndence. Here rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long\\ndresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner stood a huge bag of\\nwool ready to be spun in another a quantity of linsey-woolsey\\njust from the loom ears of Indian corn and strings of dried\\napples and peaches hung in gay festoons along the walls, min-\\ngled with the gaud of red peppers and a door left ajar gave\\nhim a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs\\nand dark mahogany tables shone like mirrors andirons, with\\ntheir accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened from their covert\\nof asparagus tops mock-oranges and conch-shells decorated the\\nmantelpiece; strings of various-colored birds eggs were suspended\\nabove it a great ostrich egg was hung from the centre of the\\nroom, and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open, displayed\\nimmense treasures of old silver and well-mended china.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0373.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "338 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nFrom the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions\\nof delight the peace of his mind was at an end, and his only\\nstudy was how to gain the affections of the peerless daughter of\\nVan Tassel. In this enterprise, however, he had more real\\ndifficulties than generally fell to the lot of a knight-errant of\\nyore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters, fiery\\ndragons, and such-like easily-conquered adversaries to contend\\nwith, and had to make his way merely through gates of iron and\\nbrass and walls of adamant to the castle keep, where the lady\\nof his heart was confined all which he achieved as easily as a\\nman would carve his way to the centre of a Christmas pie, and\\nthen the lady gave him her hand as a matter of course. Icha-\\nbod, on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart of a coun-\\ntry coquette beset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices,\\nwhich were forever presenting new difficulties and impediments,\\nand he had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real\\nflesh and blood, the numerous rustic admirers who beset every\\nportal to her heart, keeping a watchful and angry eye upon\\neach other, but ready to fly out in the common cause against\\nany new competitor.\\nAmong these the most formidable was a burly, roaring,\\nroistering blade of the name of Abraham or, according to the\\nDutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the coun-\\ntry round, which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood.\\nHe was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly\\nblack hair and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, having\\na mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame\\nand great powers of limb, he had received the nickname of\\nBrom Bones, by which he was universally known. He was\\nfamed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as\\ndextrous on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all\\nraces and cock-fights, and, with the ascendency which bodily\\nstrength acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes,\\nsetting his hat on one side and giving his decisions with an aif", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0374.jp2"}, "373": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 339\\nand tone admitting of no gainsay or appeal. He was always\\nready for either a fight or a frolic, but had more mischief than\\nill-will in his composition and with all his overbearing rough-\\nness there was a strong dash of waggish good-humor at bottom.\\nHe had three or four boon companions who regarded him as\\ntheir model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country,\\nattending every scene of feud or merriment for miles around.\\nIn cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap surmounted\\nwith a flaunting fox s tail and when the folks at a country\\ngathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisk-\\ning about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by\\nfor a squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along\\npast the farmhouses at midnight with whoop and halloo, like a\\ntroop of Don Cossacks, and the old dames, startled out of\\ntheir sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had\\nclattered by, and then exclaim, Ay, there goes Brom Bones\\nand his gang The neighbors looked upon him with a mix-\\nture of awe, admiration, and good-will, and when any madcap\\nprank of rustic brawl occurred in the vicinity always shook their\\nheads and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.\\nThis rantipole hero had for some time singled out the bloom-\\ning Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and,\\nthough his amorous toyings were something like the gentle\\ncaresses and endearments of a bear, yet it was whispered that\\nshe did not altogether discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his\\nadvances were signals for rival candidates to retire who felt no\\ninclination to cross a line in his amours h omuch, that when\\nhis horse was seen tied to Van Tassel s paling on a Sunday\\nnight, a sure sign that his master was courting or, as it is\\ntermed, sparking within, all other suitors passed by in\\ndespair and carried the war into other quarters.\\nSuch was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane\\nhad to contend, and, considering all things, a stouter man than\\nhe would have shrunk from the competition and a wiser maw", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0375.jp2"}, "374": {"fulltext": "340 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwould have despaired. He had, however, a happy mixture oi\\npliability and perseverance in his nature he was in form and\\nspirit like a supple jack yielding, but tough though he\\nbent, he never broke; and though he bowed beneath the\\nslightest pressure, yet the moment it was away, jerk he was\\nas erect and carried his head as high as ever.\\nTo have taken the field openly against his rival would have\\nbeen madness for he was not a man to be thwarted in his\\namours, any more than that stormy lover, Achilles. Ichabod,\\ntherefore, made his advances in a quiet and gently-insinuating\\nmanner. Under cover of his character of singing-master he\\nmade frequent visits at the farmhouse not that he had any-\\nthing to apprehend from the meddlesome interference of parents,\\nwhich is so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers.\\nBait Van Tassel was an easy, indulgent soul; he loved his\\ndaughter better even than his pipe, and, like a reasonable man\\nand an excellent father, let her have her way in everything.\\nHis notable little wife, too, had enough to do to attend to her\\nhousekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she sagely\\nobserved, ducks and geese are foolish things and must be looked\\nafter, but girls can take care of themselves. Thus while the\\nbusy dame bustled about the house or plied her spinning-wheel\\nat one end of the piazza, honest Bait would sit smoking his\\nevening pipe at the other, watching the achievements of a little\\nwooden warrior who, armed with a sword in each hand, was\\nmost valiantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle of the barn.\\nIn the mean time, Ichabod would carry on his suit with the\\ndaughter by the s. le of the spring under the great elm or\\nsauntering along in the twilight, that hour so favorable to the\\nlover s eloquence.\\nI profess not to know how women s hearts are wooed and\\nwon. To me they have always been matters of riddle and\\nadmiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point or\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0door of access, while others have a thousand avenues and mav", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0376.jp2"}, "375": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 34 1\\nbe captured in a thousand different ways. It is a great triumph\\nof skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of general-\\nship to maintain possession of the latter, for a man must battle\\nfor his fortress at every door and window. He who wins a\\nthousand common hearts is therefore entitled to some renown,\\nbut he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette\\nis indeed a hero. Certain it is, this was not the case with the\\nredoubtable Brom Bones and from the moment Ichabod Crane\\nmade his advances the interests of the former evidently de-\\nclined; his horse was no longer seen tied at the palings on\\nSunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him\\nand the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow.\\nBrom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature,\\nwould fain have carried matters to open warfare, and have\\nsettled their pretensions to the lady according to the mode of\\nthose most concise and simple reasoners, the knights-errant\\nof yore by single combat but Ichabod was too conscious of\\nthe superior might of his adversary to enter the lists against\\nhim he had overheard a boast of Bones, that he would\\ndouble the schoolmaster up and lay him on a shelf of his own\\nschool-house and he was too wary to give him an opportunity.\\nThere was something extremely provoking in this obstinately\\npacific system it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon\\nthe funds of rustic waggery in his disposition and to play off\\nboorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became the\\nobject of whimsical persecution to Bones and his gang of rough\\nriders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domains smoked\\nout his singing school by stopping up the chimney broke into\\nthe school-house at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings\\nof withe and window stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy\\nso that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the witches in\\nthe country held their meetings there. v But, what was still\\nmore annoying, Brom took all opportunities of turning him\\ninto ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0377.jp2"}, "376": {"fulltext": "342 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ndog whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous manner^\\nand introduced as a rival of Ichabod s to instruct her in\\npsalmody.\\nIn this way matters went on for some time without produc-\\ning any material effect on the relative situation of the contend-\\ning powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon Ichabod, in pensive\\nmood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool whence he usually watched\\nall the concerns of his little literary realm. In his hand he\\nswayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic power the birch of\\njustice reposed on three nails behind the throne, a constant\\nterror to evil-doers while on the desk before him might be\\nseen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons detected\\nupon the persons of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples,\\npopguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant\\nlittle paper game-cocks. Apparently there had been some\\nappalling act of justice recently inflicted, for his scholars were\\nall busily intent upon their books or slyly whispering behind\\nthem with one eye kept upon the master, and a kind of buzz-\\ning stillness reigned thoughout the school-room. It was sud-\\ndenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro in tow-cloth\\njacket and trowsers, a round-crowned fragment of a hat like\\nthe cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged,\\nwild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way\\nof halter. He came clattering up to the school door with an\\ninvitation to Ichabod to attend a merry-making or quilting\\nfrolic w to be held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel s and,\\nhaving delivered his message with that air of importance and\\neffort at fine language which a negro is apt to display on petty\\nembassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen\\nscampering away up the hollow, full of the importance and\\nhurry of his mission.\\nAll was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet school-room.\\nThe scholars were hurried through their lessons without stop-\\nping at trifles those who were nimble skipped over half with", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0378.jp2"}, "377": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 343\\nimpunity, and those who were tardy had a smart application\\nnow and then in the rear to quicken their speed or help them\\nover a tall word. Books were flung aside without being put\\naway on the shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown\\ndown, and the whole school was turned loose an hour before the\\nusual time, bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping\\nand racketing about the green in joy at their early emanci-\\npation.\\nThe gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour\\nat his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed\\nonly, suit of rusty black, and arranging his locks by a bit of\\nbroken looking-glass that hung up in the school-house. That\\nhe might make his appearance before his mistress in the true\\nstyle of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with\\nwhom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman of the\\nname of Hans Van Kipper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued\\nforth like a knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is\\nmeet I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give some\\naccount of the looks and equipments of my hero and his steed.\\nThe animal he bestrode was a broken-down plough-horse that\\nhad outlived almost everything but his viciousness. He was\\ngaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck and a head like a hammer\\nhis rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burrs\\none eye had lost its pupil and was glaring and spectral, but the\\nother had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still, he must\\nhave had tire and mettle in his clay, if we may judge from the\\nname he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite\\nsteed of his master s, the choleric Van Ripper, wno was a furi-\\nous rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit\\ninto the animal for, old and broken down as he looked, there\\nwas more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly\\nin the country.\\nIchabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He vode\\nwith short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0379.jp2"}, "378": {"fulltext": "344 THE SKETCH BOOK\\npommel of the saddle his sharp elbows stuck out like grass\\nhoppers he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand like\\na sceptre and as his horse jogged on the motion of his arms\\nwas not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A small wool\\nhat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of\\nforehead might be called, and the skirts of his black coat flut-\\ntered out almost to his horse s tail. Such was the appearance\\nof Ichabod and his steed as they shambled out of the gate of\\nHans Van Ripper, and it was altogether such an apparition as\\nis seldom to be met with in broad daylight.\\nIt was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day, the sky was\\nclear and serene, and Nature wore that rich and golden livery\\nwhich we always associate with the idea of abundance. The\\nforests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some\\ntrees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into\\nbrilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files\\nof wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the\\nair the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves\\nof beech and hickory nuts, and the pensive whistle of the\\nquail at intervals from the neighboring stubble-field.\\nThe small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In\\nthe fulness of their revelry they fluttered, chirping and frolick-\\ning, from bush to bush and tree to tree, capricious from the\\nvery profusion and variety around them. There was the hon-\\nest cock robin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with\\nits loud querulous note and the twittering blackbirds, flying\\nin sable clouds and the golden- winged woodpecker, with hi\\ncrimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage\\nand the cedar-bird, with its red-tipt .wings and yellow- tipt tail\\nand its little monteiro cap of feathers and the blue jay, that\\nnoisy coxcomb, in his gay light-blue coat and white under-\\nclothes, screaming and chattering, bobbing and nodding and\\nbowing, and pretending to be on good terms with every song-\\nster of the grove.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0380.jp2"}, "379": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 345\\nAs Ichabod jogged slowly on his way his eye, ever open to\\nevery symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over\\nthe treasures of jolly Autumn. On all sides he beheld vast\\nstore of apples some hanging in oppressive opulence on the\\ntrees, some gathered into baskets and barrels for the market,\\nothers heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press. Farther on\\nhe beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears peep-\\ning from their leafy coverts and holding out the promise of\\ncakes and hasty pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying\\nbeneath them, turning up their fair round bellies to the sun,\\nand giving ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies and\\nanon he passed the fragrant buckwheat-fields, breathing the\\nodor of the bee-hive, and as he beheld them soft anticipations\\nstole over his mind of dainty slapjacks, well buttered and gar-\\nnished with honey or treacle by the delicate little dimpled hand\\nof Katrina Van Tassel.\\nThus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and\\nsugared suppositions, he journeyed along the sides of a\\nrange of hills which look out upon some of the goodliest scenes\\nof the mighty Hudson. The sun gradually wheeled his broad\\ndisk down into the west. The wide bosom of the Tappan Zee\u00c2\u00b0\\nlay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a gen-\\ntle undulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow of the\\ndistant mountain. A few amber clouds floated in the sky,\\nwithout a breath of air to move them. The horizon was of a\\nfine golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple green,\\nand from that into the deep blue of the mid-heaven. A slant-\\ning ray lingered on the woody crests of the precipices that\\noverhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth to the\\ndark-gray and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop was loiter-\\ning in the distance, dropping slowly down with the tide, her\\nsail hanging uselessly against the mast, and as the reflection\\nof the sky gleamed along the still water it seemed as if the\\nvessel was suspended in the air.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0381.jp2"}, "380": {"fulltext": "346 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nIt was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle\\nof the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the\\npride and flower of the adjacent country old farmers, a spare,\\nleathern-faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, blue stock-\\nings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles their brisk\\nwithered little dames, in close crimped caps, long-waisted short-\\ngowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors and pincushions and\\ngay calico pockets hanging on the outside buxom lasses, almost\\nas antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw hat,\\na fine ribbon, or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of\\ncity innovation the sons, in short square-skirted coats with\\nrows of stupendous brass buttons, and their hair generally\\nqueued in the fashion of the times, especially if they could pro-\\ncure an eel-skin for the purpose, it being esteemed throughout\\nthe country as a potent nourisher and strengthener of the\\nhair.\\nBrom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, having\\ncome to the gathering on his favorite steed Daredevil a\\ncreature, like himself full of metal and mischief, and which no\\none but himself could manage. He was, in fact, noted for pre*\\nferring vicious animals, given to all kinds of tricks, which kept\\nthe rider in constant risk of his neck, for he held a tractable,\\nwell-broken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit.\\nFain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that\\nburst apon the enraptured gaze of my hero as he entered the\\nstate parlor of Van Tassel s mansion. Not those of the bevy\\nof buxom lasses with their luxurious display of red and white,\\nbut the ample charms of a genuine Dutch country tea-table in\\nthe sumptuous time of autumn. Such heaped-up platters of\\ncakes of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only\\nto experienced Dutch housewives There was the doughty\\ndoughnut, the tenderer oily koek, and the crisp and crumbling\\ncruller; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey\\ncakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then there were", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0382.jp2"}, "381": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 347\\napple pies and peach pies and pumpkin pies besides slices of\\nham and smoked beef; and moreover delectable dishes of pre-\\nserved plums and peaches and pears and quinces not to men-\\ntion broiled shad and roasted chickens together with bowls\\nof milk and cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty\\nmuch as I have enumerated them, with the motherly tea-pot\\nsending up its clouds of vapor from the midst. Heaven bless\\nthe mark I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as\\nit deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story. Hap-\\npily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his historian,\\nbut did ample justice to every dainty.\\nHe was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in\\nproportion as his skin was filled with good cheer, and whose\\nspirits rose with eating as some men s do with drink. He\\ncould not help, too, rolling his large eyes round him as he ate,\\nand chuckling with the possibility that he might one day be\\nlord of all this scene of almost unimaginable luxury and splen-\\ndor. Then, he thought, how soon he d turn his back upon the\\nold school-house, snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Kipper\\nand every other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant peda-\\ngogue out of doors that should dare to call him comrade\\nOld Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests with\\na face dilated with content and good-humor, round and jolly\\nas the harvest moon. His hospitable attentions were brief,\\nbut expressive, being confined to a shake of the hand, a slap\\non the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to fall\\nto and help themselves.\\nAnd now the sound of the music from the common room, or\\nhall, summoned to the dance. The musician was an old gray-\\nheaded negro who had been the itinerant orchestra of the neigh-\\nborhood for more than half a century. His instrument was as\\nold and battered as himself. The greater part of the time he\\nscraped on two or three strings, accompanying every movement\\nof the bow with a motion of the head, bowing almost to the", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0383.jp2"}, "382": {"fulltext": "348 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nground and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple\\nwere to start.\\nIchabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon\\nhis vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle\\nand to have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion and\\nclattering about the room you would have thought Saint Vitus\\nhimself, that blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before\\nyou in person. He was the admiration of all the negroes, who,\\nhaving gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the\\nneighborhood, stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces\\nat every door and window, gazing with delight at the scene,\\nrolling their white eyeballs, and showing grinning rows of ivory\\nfrom ear to ear. How could the flogger of urchins be other-\\nwise than animated and joyous The lady of his heart was\\nhis partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in reply to all\\nhis amorous oglings, while Brom Bones, sorely smitten with\\nlove and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner.\\nWhen the dance was at an end Ichabod was attracted to a\\nknot of the sager folks, who, with old Van Tassel, sat smoking\\nat one end of the piazza gossiping over former times and draw-\\ning out long stories about the war.\\nThis neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, was\\none of those highly favored places which abound with chronicle\\nand great men. The British and American line had run near\\nit during the war it had therefore been the scene of maraud-\\ning and infested with refugees, cow-boys, and all kinds of border\\nchivalry. Just sufficient time had elapsed to enable each story-\\nteller to dress up his tale with a little becoming fiction, and in\\nthe indistinctness of his recollection to make himself the hero\\nof every exploit.\\nThere was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue-bearded\\nDutchman, who had nearly taken a British frigate with an old\\niron nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, only that his gun\\nburst at the sixth discharge. And there was an old gentle", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0384.jp2"}, "383": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 349\\nman who shall be nameless, being too rich a mynheer to be\\nlightly mentioned, who, in the battle of Whiteplains, being an\\nexcellent master of defence, parried a musket-ball with a small\\nsword, insomuch that he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade\\nand glance off at the hilt in proof of which he was ready\\nat any time to show the sword, with the hilt a little bent.\\nThere were several more that had been equally great in the\\nfield, not one of whom but was persuaded that he had a con-\\nsiderable hand in bringing the war to a happy termination.\\nBut all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and appari-\\ntions that succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in legendary\\ntreasures of the kind. Local tales and superstitions thrive\\nbest in these sheltered, long-settled retreats, but are trampled\\nunder foot by the shifting throng that forms the population of\\nmost of our country places. Besides, there is no encourage-\\nment for ghosts in most of our villages, for they have scarcely\\nhad time to finish their first nap and turn themselves in their\\ngraves before their surviving friends have travelled away from\\nthe neighborhood so that when they turn out at night to walk\\ntheir rounds they have no acquaintance left to call upon. This\\nis perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except\\nin our long established Dutch communities.\\nThe immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of super-\\nnatural stories in these parts was doubtless owing to the vicin-\\nity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in the very air\\nthat blew from that haunted region; it breathed forth an\\natmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land. Sev-\\neral of the Sleepy Hollow people were present at Van Tassel s,\\nand, as usual, were doling out their wild and wonderful legends.\\nMany dismal tales were told about funeral trains and mourning\\ncries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where\\nthe unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in the\\nneighborhood. Some mention was made also of the woman in\\nwhite that haunted the dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0385.jp2"}, "384": {"fulltext": "350 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nheard to shriek on winter nights before a storm, having perished\\nthere in the snow/ The chief part of the stories, however, turned\\nupon the favorite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the headless horse-\\nman, who had been heard several times of late patrolling the\\ncountry, and, it was said, tethered his horse nightly among the\\ngraves in the churchyard.\\nThe sequestered situation of this church seems always to have\\nmade it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a\\nknoll surrounded by locust trees and lofty elms, from among\\nwhich its decent whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like\\nChristian purity beaming through the shades of retirement. A\\ngentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water bordered\\nby high trees, between which peeps may be caught at the blue\\nhills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where\\nthe sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that\\nthere at least the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the\\nchurch extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large\\nbrook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a\\ndeep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was\\nformerly thrown a wooden Ipridge the road that led to it and\\nthe bridge itself were thickly shaded by overhanging trees,\\nwhich cast a gloom about it even in the daytime, but occasioned\\na fearful darkness at night. Such was one of the favorite haunts\\nof the headless horseman, and the place where he was most\\nfrequently encountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a\\nmost heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the horseman\\nreturning from his foray into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged\\nto get up behind him how they galloped over bush and brake,\\nover hill and swamp, until they reached the bridge, when the\\nhorseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer\\ninto the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap\\nof thunder.\\nThis story was immediately matched by a thrice-marvellous\\nadventure of Brom Bones, wno made light of the galloping", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0386.jp2"}, "385": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 351\\nHessian as an arrant jockey. He affirmed that on returning\\none night from the neighboring village of Sing-Sing he had been\\novertaken by this midnight trooper that he had offered to race\\nwith him for a bowl of punch, and should have won it too, for\\nDaredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they came\\nto the church bridge the Hessian bolted and vanished in a flash\\nof fire.\\nAll these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with wmich\\nmen talk in the dark, the countenances of the listeners only now\\nand then receiving a casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank\\ndeep in the mind of Ichabod. He repaid them in kind with\\nlarge extracts from his invaluable author, Cotton Mather, and\\nadded many marvellous events that had taken place in his\\nnative state of Connecticut and fearful sights which he had\\nseen in his nightly walks about Sleepy Hollow.\\nThe revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered\\ntogether their families in their wagons, and were heard for some\\ntime rattling along the hollow roads and over the distant hills.\\nSome of the damsels mounted on pillions behind their favorite\\nswains, and their light-hearted laughter, mingling with the\\nclatter of hoofs, echoed along the silent woodlands, sounding\\nfainter and fainter until they gradually died away, and the late\\nscene of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted. Ichabod\\nonly lingered behind, according to the custom of country lovers,\\nto have a tete-a-tete with the heiress, fully convinced that he\\nwas now on the high road to success. What passed at this\\ninterview I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do not know.\\nSomething, however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he\\ncertainly sallied forth, after no very great interval, with an air\\nquite desolate and chop-fallen. Oh these women these women\\nCould that girl have been playing off any of her coquettish tricks 1\\nWas her encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham\\nto secure her conquest of his rival Heaven only knows, not I\\nLet it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0387.jp2"}, "386": {"fulltext": "352 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nnad been sacking a hen-roost, rather than a fair lady s heart.\\nWithout looking to the right or left to notice the scene of rural\\nwealth on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to\\nthe stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his\\nsteed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which\\nhe was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and\\noats and whole valleys of timothy and clover.\\nIt was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-\\nhearted and crestfallen, pursued his travel homewards along the\\nsides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which\\nhe had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was\\nas dismal as himself. Far below him the Tappan Zee spread\\nits dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there\\nthe tall mast of a sloop riding quietly at anchor under the land.\\nIn the dead hush of midnight he could even hear the barking\\nof the watch-dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson but\\nit was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance\\nfrom this faithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the\\nlong-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would\\nsound far, far off, from some farmhouse away among the hills\\nbut it was like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life\\noccurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a\\ncricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bull-frog from a\\nneighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably and turning\\nsuddenly in his bed.\\nAll the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in\\nthe afternoon now came crowding upon his recollection. The\\nnight grew darker and darker the stars seemed to sink deeper\\nin the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his\\nsight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. He was,\\nmoreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes\\nof the ghost-stories had been laid. In the centre of the road\\nstood an enormous tulip tree which towered like a giant above\\nall the other trees of the neighborhood and formed a kind of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0388.jp2"}, "387": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 353\\nlandmark. Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough\\nto form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the\\nearth and rising again into the air. It was connected with the\\ntragical story of the unfortunate Andre who had been taken\\nprisoner hard by, and was universally known by the name of\\nMajor Andre s tree. The common people regarded it with a\\nmixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for\\nthe fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of\\nstrange sights and doleful lamentations told concerning it.\\nAs Ichabod approached this fearful tree he began to whistle\\nhe thought his whistle was answered it was but a blast sweep-\\ning sharply through the dry branches. As he approached a\\nlittle nearer he thought he saw something white hanging in the\\nmidst of the tree he paused and ceased whistling, but on\\nlooking more narrowly perceived that it was a place where the\\ntree had been scathed by lightning and the white wood laid\\nbare. Suddenly he heard a groan his teeth chattered and his\\nknees smote against the saddle it was but the rubbing of one\\nhuge bough upon another as they were swayed about by the\\nbreeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before\\nhim.\\nAbout two hundred yards from the tree a small brook crossed\\nthe road and ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen known\\nby the name of Wiley s Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by\\nside, served for a bridge over this stream. On that side of the\\nroad where the brook entered the wood a group of oaks and\\nchestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines, threw a cav-\\nernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest\\ntrial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate Andre\\nwas captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines\\nwere the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This\\nhas ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful\\nare the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after\\nlark.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0389.jp2"}, "388": {"fulltext": "354 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nAs he approached the stream his heart began to thump he\\nsummoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a\\nscore of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across\\nthe bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old\\nanimal made a lateral movement and ran broadside against the\\nfence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked\\nthe reins on the other side and kicked lustily with the contrary\\nfoot it was all in vain his steed started, it is true, but it was\\nonly to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of\\nbrambles and alder-bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed\\nboth whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder,\\nwho dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand\\njust by the bridge with a suddenness that had nearly sent his\\nrider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment a plashy\\ntramp by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Icha-\\nbod. In the dark shadow of the grove on the margin of the\\nbrook he beheld something huge, misshapen, black, and tower-\\ning. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like\\nsome gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.\\nThe hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head\\nwith terror. What was to be clone To turn and fly was now\\ntoo late and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost\\nor goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of\\nthe wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he\\ndemanded in stammering accents, Who are you He re-\\nceived no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more\\nagitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he\\ncudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting\\nhis eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune.\\nJust then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and\\nwith a scramble and a bound stood at once in the middle of the\\nroad. Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of\\nthe unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He\\nappeared to be a horseman of large dimensions and mounted on", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0390.jp2"}, "389": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 355\\na black horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molesta-\\ntion or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jog-\\nging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now\\ngot over his fright and waywardness.\\nIchabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight com-\\npanion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones\\nwith the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed in hopes\\nof leaving him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his\\nhorse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a\\nwalk, thinking to lag behind the other did the same. His\\nheart began to sink within him he endeavored to resume his\\npsalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of\\nhis mouth and he could not utter a stave. There was some-\\nthing in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious\\ncompanion that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon\\nfearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which\\nbrought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the\\nsky, gigantic in height and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was\\nhorror-struck on perceiving that he was headless but his horror\\nwas still more increased on observing that the head, which\\nshould have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on\\nthe pommel of the saddle. His terror rose to desperation, he\\nrained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping\\nby a sudden movement to give his companion the slip but the\\nspectre started full jump with him. Away, then, they dashed\\nthrough thick and thin, stones flying and sparks flashing at\\nevery bound. Ichabod s flimsy garments fluttered in the air as\\nhe stretched his long lank body away over his horse s head in\\nthe eagerness of his flight.\\nThey had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy\\nHollow but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon,\\ninstead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn and plunged\\nheadlong down hill to the left. This road leads through a\\nsandy hollow shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0391.jp2"}, "390": {"fulltext": "356 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nwhere it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story, and just be-\\nyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed\\nchurch.\\nAs yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful rider\\nan apparent advantage in the chase but just as he had got\\nhalfway through the hollow the girths of the saddle gave away\\nand he felt it slipping from under him. He seized it by the\\npommel and endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain, and had\\njust time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round the\\nneck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled\\nunder foot by his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans\\nVan Ripper s wrath passed across his mind, for it was his\\nSunday saddle but this was no time for petty fears the goblin\\nwas hard on his haunches, and (unskilled rider that he was) he\\nhad much ado to maintain his seat, sometimes slipping on one\\nside, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high\\nridge of his horse s back-bone with a violence that he verily\\nfeared would cleave him asunder.\\nAn opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that\\nthe church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a\\nsilver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not\\nmistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring\\nunder the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom\\nBones ghostly competitor had disappeared. If I can but\\nreach that bridge, thought Ichabod, I am safe. Just then\\nhe heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him;\\nhe even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive\\nkick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge\\nhe thundered over the resounding planks he gained the oppo-\\nsite side and now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his\\npursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and\\nbrimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups,\\nand in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod\\nendeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It en-", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0392.jp2"}, "391": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 357\\ncountered his cranium with a tremendous crash he was tumbled\\nheadlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and\\nthe goblin rider passed by like a whirlwind.\\nThe next morning the old horse was found, without his\\nsaddle and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the\\ngrass at his master s gate. Ichabod did not make his appear-\\nance at breakfast; dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod. The\\nboys assembled at the school-house and strolled idly about the\\nbanks of the brook but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Eipper\\nnow began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor\\nIchabod and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after\\ndiligent investigation they came upon his traces. In one part\\nof the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled\\nin the dirt the tracks of horses hoofs, deeply dented in the\\nroad and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge,\\nbeyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where\\nthe water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortu-\\nnate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin.\\nThe brook was searched, but the body of the schoolmaster\\nwas not to be discovered. Hans Van Kipper, as executor of\\nhis estate, examined the bundle which contained all his worldly\\neffects. They consisted of two shirts and a half, two stocks\\nfor the neck, a pair or two of worsted stockings, an old pair of\\ncorduroy small-clothes, a rusty razor, a book of psalm tunes full\\nof dog s ears, and a broken pitch-pipe. As to the books and\\nfurniture of the school-house, they belonged to the community,\\nexcepting Cotton Mather s History of Witchcraft, a New Eng-\\nland A Imanac, and a book of dreams and fortune-telling in\\nwhich last was a sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted\\nin several fruitless attempts to make a copy of verses in honor\\nof the heiress of Van Tassel. These magic books aud the poetic\\nscrawl were forthwith consigned to the flames by Hans Van\\nRipper, who from that time forward determined to send his\\nchildren no more to school, observing that he never knew any", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0393.jp2"}, "392": {"fulltext": "358 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ngood come of this same reading and writing. Whatever money\\nthe schoolmaster possessed and he had received his quarter s\\npay but a day or two before he must have had about his\\nperson at the time of his disappearance.\\nThe mysterious event caused much speculation at the church\\non the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were col-\\nlected in the churchyard, at the bridge, and at the spot where\\nthe hat and pumpkin had been found. The stories of Brouwer,\\naf Bones, and a whole budget of others were called to mind,\\ntind when they had diligently considered them all, and compared\\nthem with the symptoms of the present case, they shook their\\nheads and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried\\noff by the Galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor and in\\nnobody s debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him,\\nthe school was removed to a different quarter of the hollow and\\nanother pedagogue reigned in his stead.\\nIt is true an old farmer, who had been down to New York\\non a visit several years after, and from whom this account of\\nthe ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelli-\\ngence that Ichabod Crane was still alive that he had left the\\nneighborhood, partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van\\nRipper, and partly in mortification at having been suddenly\\ndismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters\\nto a distant part of the country had kept school and studied\\n?aw at the same time, had been admitted to the bar, turned\\npolitician, electioneered, written for the newspapers, and finally\\nhad been made a justice of the Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones\\ntoo, who shortly after his rival s disappearance conducted the\\nblooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, was observed to look\\nexceedingly knowing whenever the story of Ichabod was related,\\nand always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the\\npumpkin which led some to suspect that he knew more about\\nthe matter than he chose to tell.\\nThe old country wives^ however, who are the best judges of", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0394.jp2"}, "393": {"fulltext": "THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 359\\nthese matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited\\naway by supernatural means and it is a favorite story often\\ntold about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire.\\nThe bridge became more than ever an object of superstitious\\nawe, and that may be the reason why the road has been altered\\nof late years, so as to approach the church by the border of the\\nmill-pond. The school-house, being deserted, soon fell to decay,\\nand was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate\\npedagogue and the plough-boy, loitering homeward of a still\\nsummer evening, has often fancied his voice at a distance chant-\\ning a melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of\\nSleepy Hollow.\\nPOSTSCRIPT,\\nFOUND IN THE HANDWRITING OF MR. KNICKERBOCKER\\nThe preceding tale is given almost in the precise words in\\nwhich I heard it related at a Corporation meeting of the ancient\\ncity of Manhattoes, at which were present many of its sagest\\nand most illustrious burghers. The narrator was a pleasant,\\nshabby, gentlemanly old fellow in pepper-and-salt clothes, with\\na sadly humorous face, and one whom I strongly suspected of\\nbeing poor, he made such efforts to be entertaining. When his\\nstory was concluded there was much laughter and approbation,\\nparticularly from two or three deputy aldermen who had been\\nasleep the greater part of the time. There was, however, one\\ntall, dry-looking old gentleman, with beetling eyebrows, who\\nmaintained a grave and rather severe face throughout, now and\\nthen folding his arms, inclining his head, and looking down upon\\nthe floor, as if turning a doubt over in his mind. He was one\\nof your wary men, who never laugh but upon good grounds\\nwhen they have reason and the law on their side. When the\\nmirth of the rest of the company had subsided and silence was", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0395.jp2"}, "394": {"fulltext": "360 THE SKETCH BOOK\\nrestored, he leaned one arm on the elbow of his chair, and\\nsticking the other akimbo, demanded, with a slight but exceed-\\ningly sage motion of the head and contraction of the brow, what\\nwas the moral of the story and what it went to prove.\\nThe story-teller, who was just putting a glass of wine to his\\nlips as a refreshment after his toils, paused for a moment, looked\\nat his inquirer with an air of infinite deference, and, lowering\\nthe glass slowly to the table, observed that the story was in-\\ntended most logically to prove\\nThat there is no situation in life but has its advantages\\nand pleasures provided we will but take a joke as we find it\\nThat, therefore, he that runs races with goblin troopers is\\nlikely to have rough riding of it.\\nErgo, for a country schoolmaster to be refused the hand\\nof a Dutch heiress is a certain step to high preferment in the\\nstate.\\nThe cautious old gentleman knit his brows tenfold closer\\nafter this explanation, being sorely puzzled by the ratiocination\\nof the syllogism, while methought the one in pepper-and-salt\\neyed him with something of a triumphant leer. At length he\\nobserved that all this was very well, but still he thought the\\nstory a little on the extravagant there were one or two points\\non which he had his doubts.\\nFaith, sir, replied the story-teller, as to that matter, 1\\nion t believe one-half of it my el\u00c2\u00a3", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0396.jp2"}, "395": {"fulltext": "L ENVOl 361\\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 Book the Author\\ncannot but express his deep sense of the indulgence with which\\nhis first has been received, and of the liberal disposition that\\nhas been evinced to treat him with kindness as a stranger.\\nEven the critics, whatever may be said of them by others, he\\nhas found to be a singularly gentle and good-natured race it is\\ntrue that each has in turn objected to some one or two articles,\\nand that these individual exceptions, taken in the aggregate,\\nwould amount almost to a total condemnation of his work but\\nthen he has been consoled by observing that what one has par-\\nticularly censured another has as particularly praised and thus,\\nthe encomiums being set off against the objections, he finds his\\nwork, upon the whole, commended far beyond its deserts.\\nHe is aware that he runs a risk of forfeiting much of this\\nkind favor by not following the counsel that has been liberally\\nbestowed upon him for where abundance of valuable advice\\nis given gratis it may seem a man s own fault if he should go\\nastray. He only can say in his vindication that he faithfully\\ndetermined for a time to govern himself in his second volume\\nby the opinions passed upon his first but he was soon brought\\nto a stand by the contrariety of excellent counsel. One kindly\\nadvised him to avoid the ludicrous another to shun the pa-\\nthetic a third assured him that he was tolerable at descrip-\\ntion, but cautioned him to leave narrative alone while a fourth", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0397.jp2"}, "396": {"fulltext": "362 THE SKETCH BOOK\\ndeclared that he had a very pretty knack at turning a story,\\nand was really entertaining when in a pensive mood, but was\\ngrievously mistaken if he imagined himself to possess a spirit\\nof humor.\\nThus perplexed by the advice of his friends, who each in\\nturn closed some particular path, but left him all the world\\nbeside to range in, he found that to follow all their counsels\\nwould, in fact, be to stand still. He remained for a time sadly\\nembarrassed, when all at once the thought struck him to ramble\\non as he had begun that his work being miscellaneous and\\nwritten for different humors, it could not be expected that any\\none would be pleased with the whole; but that if it should\\ncontain something to suit each reader, his end would be com-\\npletely answered. Few guests sit down to a varied table with\\nan equal appetite for every dish. One has an elegant horror\\nof a roasted pig; another holds a curry or a devil in utter\\nabomination a third cannot tolerate the ancient flavor of veni-\\nson and wild fowl; and a fourth, of truly masculine stomach,\\nlooks with sovereign contempt on those knick-knacks here and\\nthere dished up for the ladies. Thus each article is condemned\\nin its turn, and yet amidst this variety of appetites seldom does\\na dish go away from the table without being tasted and relished\\nby some one or other of the guests.\\nWith these considerations he ventures to serve up this second\\nvolume in the same heterogeneous way with his first simply\\nrequesting the reader, if he should find here and there some-\\nthing to please him, to rest assured that it was written ex-\\npressly for intelligent readers like himself; but entreating him,\\nshould he find anything to dislike, to tolerate it, as one of those\\narticles which the author has been obliged to write for readers\\nof a less refined taste.\\nTo be serious The author is conscious of the numerous\\nfaults and imperfections of his work, and well aware how little\\nhe is disciplined and accomplished in the arts of authorship.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0398.jp2"}, "397": {"fulltext": "Venvot 363\\nHis deficiencies are also increased by a diffidence arising from\\nhis peculiar situation. He finds himself writing in a strange\\nland, and appearing before a public which he has been accus-\\ntomed from childhood to regard with the highest feelings of awe\\nand reverence. He is full of solicitude to deserve their appro-\\nbation, yet finds that very solicitude continually embarrassing\\nhis powers and depriving him of that ease and confidence which\\nare necessary to successful exertion. Still, the kindness with\\nwhich he is treated encourages him to go on, hoping that in\\ntime he may acquire a steadier footing and thus he proceeds,\\nhalf venturing, half shrinking, surprised at his own good-fortune\\nand wondering at his own temerity.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0399.jp2"}, "398": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0400.jp2"}, "399": {"fulltext": "NOTES\\nPage 4. Irving made his first voyage to Europe in 1804.\\nP. 11. William Roscoe was born near Liverpool, March 8, 1753,\\nand died June 27, 1831. He was the son of an innkeeper, studied\\nlaw, began writing for publication at an early age, was an ardent\\nadvocate of the abolition of the slave trade, and was the author of\\nseveral historical works, the most important being The Life of\\nLorenzo di Medici, called the Magnificent, and the History of the\\nLife and Pontificate of Leo X.\\nP. 14. An address delivered at the opening of the Liverpool\\nInstitution.\\nP. 27. The Catskill Mountains form part of the Appalachian\\nchain, on the west side of the Hudson River. The highest peak of\\nthe range has an elevation of about 3800 feet.\\nP. 28. Peter Stuyvesant was born in Holland in 1602, and died\\nin New York in 1682. He came to New York in 1647 as Director\\nGeneral of the New Netherlands by appointment of the Dutch West\\nIndia Company. He was of a choleric temper, but a vigorous and\\nable administrator. He contended unsuccessfully against encroach-\\nments by the New England colonies, and was finally compelled,\\nagainst his will, to surrender New York to an English fleet, Septem-\\nber 30, 1664. After a short visit to Holland he returned to the city\\nof his adoption, and devoted himself to the cultivation of his farm,\\nthen outside the city limits, but now forming a part of the Bowery\\na well-known street on the east side of New York.\\n365", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0401.jp2"}, "400": {"fulltext": "366 NOTES\\nP. 63. From a poem by the Rev. Rann Kennedy on the death of\\nthe Princess Charlotte.\\nP. 75. Francis Beaumont, English dramatist, born about 1585,\\ndied 1616.\\nJohn Fletcher, English dramatist, born about 1579, died 1625.\\nThese dramatists collaborated in writing a number of plays.\\nBen Jonson, English dramatist, born about 1573, died 1637.\\nP. 77. Sir Peter Lely, well-known portrait painter of the period\\nof the Restoration. Born in Westphalia about 1617, died 1680.\\nJames Stuart, born about 1394, prisoner in England in 1424, as-\\nsassinated 1437.\\nP. 121. Robert Grosteste, prelate and chronicler, born about\\n1175, died 1253.\\nGiraldus Cambrensis, historian, supposed to have died about 1220.\\nHenry of Huntingdon, archdeacon of Huntingdon, chronicler in\\nthirteenth century.\\nWilliam of Malmesbury, historian and chronicler, born about\\n1095, and died about 1143.\\nWynkyn de Worde, an English printer, successor of Oaxton, died\\nabout 1534.\\nP. 123. Sir Philip Sidney, courtier, soldier, and writer, born\\n1554, died 1586.\\nThomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, born 1536, died 1608 soldier\\nand writer author of Gorboduc, the earliest English tragedy.\\nJohn Lyly, author of JEuphues, born about 1554, died about\\n1606.\\nP. 129. Sir Thomas Overbury, born 1581, died 1613.\\nP. 133. Robert Herrick, born 1591, died 1674 one of the foremost\\nof the Caroline poets.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0402.jp2"}, "401": {"fulltext": "NOTES 367\\nP. 134. Jeremy Taylor, born 1613, died 1667 one of the greatest\\nof English preachers and prose writers master of a rich and\\nsonorous style, seen at its best in Holy Living and Holy Dying.\\nP. 142. Katzenellenbogen Cat s elbow.\\nP. 158. Westminster Abbey stands on the left bank of the\\nThames in London, near Westminster Palace. It is filled with\\nmonuments to celebrated men in public life and in the arts, and\\nhas become a mausoleum of English royalty and genius. No other\\nchurch in England conserves so much that explains the leading\\nposition of the nation in the affairs of the world, and none possesses\\nso, much interest for Americans.\\nP. 161. Poets Corner the end of the south transept of West-\\nminster Abbey is filled with monuments and other memorials of\\nEnglish writers from the time of Chaucer to that of Browning and\\nTennyson. A bust of Longfellow was placed in the Poets Corner\\nnot long after his death, and is the only memorial of an American\\nwriter in the Abbey.\\nP. 164. Henry the Seventh s chapel, at the east end of West-\\nminster Abbey, is a very rich and beautiful structure, completed\\nabout 1520. It is notable for its carven chair-stalls and for its fan-\\ntracery ceiling, which shows the Perpendicular style in its most\\nornate period.\\nKnights of the Bath, an English military order, second in rank\\nonly to the Order of the Garter made up of three classes\\nKnights Grand Cross (K. G. C), Knights Commanders, and\\nCompanions. The Order derives its name from the ceremony of\\nbathing at the initiation of the Knights.\\nP. 167. Edward the Confessor one of the early kings of Eng-\\nland, born 1004, died 1066 his ascetic life secured for him\\nrecognition as a saint in the Roman Catholic Church.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0403.jp2"}, "402": {"fulltext": "368 NOTES\\nP. 169. Sir Thomas Browne, born 1605, died 1682, author of a\\nnumber of prose works, the most important being Beligio Medici\\nand Urn Burial; master of a style of notable richness, and at\\ntimes of noble eloquence.\\nP. 186. These lines appeared in Poor Robin s Almanac, 1684.\\nP. 187. Peacham s Complete Gentleman, published 1622.\\nP. 191. The mistletoe was connected with the Druid superstitions,\\nand was supposed to possess magical powers. The old English\\ncustom of kissing under the mistletoe probably had a very ancient\\norigin.\\nP. 192. Yule was the Scotch name for Christmas originally it\\nwas the name of a heathen festival held at the time of the winter\\nsolstice. The burning of the Yule log or clog was one of the\\nfeatures of old-time Christmas festivities.\\nP. 207. Many of the old customs are no longer observed others,\\nlike the singing of the waits, are still in vogue in many parts of\\nEngland.\\nP. 209. In the old times all the tenants on an English estate\\nwere welcome at the Hall on Christmas Day, and bountifully served\\nwith Christmas fare and ale.\\nP. 215. One of the features of the old-time Christmas festivities\\nwas the serving of a boar s head, brought into the dining hall with\\ngreat state a custom still observed in some of the colleges.\\nP. 217. The Wassail Bowl was compounded of ale or wine, with,\\nnutmeg, ginger, and other ingredients.\\nFormerly it was the custom to drink out of one large cup, which\\npassed from hand to hand.\\nP. 220. Joe Miller a synonym for a story which has become old\\nby repetition. Joseph Miller was an English comic actor, who", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0404.jp2"}, "403": {"fulltext": "NOTES 369\\ndied in 1738, whose name has been associated with a once famous\\nlist book, published after his death.\\nLord of Misrule, master of the revels.\\nP. 223. A Masque was a dramatic entertainment, probably of\\nItalian origin, in which spectacular effects were introduced with\\nmusical accompaniments a precursor of, and entirely supplanted\\nby, the opera.\\nThe Covenanters were signers of the agreement to protect the\\nEeformed religion in the Church of Scotland from the efforts made\\nby Charles I to enforce the use of the form of worship used in\\nthe Church of England the Covenant was published in 1638,\\nRobin Hood, a popular hero in England and the hero of many\\nballads, lived the life of an outlaw in the forests of Nottingham and\\nYorkshire early in the fourteenth century he was an expert archer,\\nspared the poor and robbed the rich, was plucky and generous,\\nand became a popular hero by virtue of his humor, audacity, and\\nkindness to the poor among his companions was Maid Marian.\\nP. 224. Minuet, a slow, stately, graceiul dance, once very pop-\\nular.\\nP. 226. The Temple Church, situated within the bounds of the\\nInner Temple on the south side of Fleet St. London. The choir,\\nbuilt in the thirteenth century, is notable for its clustered pillars of\\ndark marble. The Bound Church, at the west end, is a Norman\\nstructure, dates from the twelfth century, and contains the monu-\\nments of nine templars, recumbent figures of dark marble in full\\narmor.\\nP. 236. The Gentleman s Magazine, one of the earliest English\\nmagazines, was established in London by Edward Cave in 1732.\\nP. 239. St. Bartholomew s Fair, a fair held annually for many\\ncenturies on the festival of St. Bartholomew in West Smithfleld,\\nLondon, abolished in 1855.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0405.jp2"}, "404": {"fulltext": "370 NOTES\\nLord Mayor s Day the procession of the Lord Mayor of London\\non the day of his accession to office is still kept up.\\nP. 247. The Red Horse Inn is still popular with visitors to Strat-\\nford is a typical, well-kept English inn the chair in which Irving\\nsat and the poker with which he poked the fire are preserved as\\nliterary relics.\\nP. 253. The Lucys were a well-known Warwickshire family in\\nShakespeare s time, and their great house at Charlecote still stands.\\nP. 254. Justice Shallow, supposed to be a satirical portraiture of\\nSir Thomas Lucy, appears in the second part of Shakespeare s\\nHenry IV.\\nP. 274. The Pequod Indians belonged to the great Algonquin\\nfamily, and were settled in eastern Connecticut.\\nP. 278. Philip of Pokanoket, better known as King Philip.\\nP. 281. Mount Hope, now Bristol, R. I.\\nP. 317. Izaak Walton, born 1593, died 1683 author of the\\nComplete Angler, and of five short biographies notable for un-\\naffected simplicity, sincerity, and the charm of quaint and naive\\nmeditation and sentiment.\\nP. 326. Tarry Town, one of the most beautiful towns on the\\nHudson, with many handsome residences and rapidly increasing\\nbusiness interests many descendants of the early Dutch settlers\\nstill live in the town. Irving is buried in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery\\non the outskirts of Tarrytown.\\nP. 331. The church-gallery was at the end of the exarch, an3\\nwas reserved for the singers.\\nP. 332. Cotton Mather, a famous Puritan preacher, born in\\nBoston in 1663, died in 1728 author of many works, including\\nMemorable Providences relating to Witchcraft and Possession.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0406.jp2"}, "405": {"fulltext": "NOTES 371\\nP. 345. The Tappan Zee, the name given by the early Dutch\\nsettlers to the broad expanse of the Hudson between Dobbs Ferry\\nand Croton Landing.\\nP. 353. Andre, born in London in 1751 sent to America with\\nthe rank of lieutenant in 1774 a man of cultivated tastes and of\\nsuperior abilities made adjutant-general with rank of major in\\n1779 selected by the British commander, Sir Henry Clinton, to\\narrange with Benedict Arnold for tne transfer of West Point to\\nBritish hands under an assumed name met Arnold, secured maps\\nand plans of West Point and a pass through the American lines\\nwas intercepted at Tarrytown by three Westchester county men,\\nsearched, arrested, tried as a spy, condemned to be hung, and exe-\\ncuted October 2, 1780,\\nP. 356. This bridge crossed the Pocantico, a small but picturesque\\nstream, not far from the old church the church is still standing,\\nbut the early bridge has been replaced by a modern structure.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0407.jp2"}, "406": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0408.jp2"}, "407": {"fulltext": "Macmillan s\\nPocket Scries of English Classics\\nCloth Uniform in Size and Binding 25 cents each\\nAddison s Sir Soger de Coverley. Edited by Zelma Gray,\\nEast Side High School, Saginaw, Mich.\\nAndersen s Pairy Tales. Translated from the Danish by\\nCaroline Peachey and H. W. Dulcken. With bio-\\ngraphical notes and introduction by Sarah C. Brooks,\\nTraining School, Baltimore, Md.\\nArabian Nights. Edited by Clifton Johnson.\\n^AsaeM*\u00c2\u00a9 Sohxab and Sustum and other Poems. Edited\\nby Justus Collins Castleman, Bloomington High\\nSchool, Bloomington, Ind.\\nAusten s Pride and Prejudice. Edited by J. W. Heermans.\\nAusten s Sense and Sensibility. Edited by Edwin L. Miller.\\nBacon s Essays. Edited by Professor George Herbert\\nClarke, Mercer University, Macon, Ga.\\nBaker s Out of the Northland.\\nBlackmore s Lorna Doone. Edited by Albert L. Barbour,\\nSuperintendent of Schools, Natick, Mass.\\nBoswell s Life of Johnson. Abridged. Edited by Mart H.\\nWatson.\\nBrowning s Shorter Poems. Edited by Franklin T. Baker,\\nTeachers College, New York City.\\nMrs. Browning s Poems. Selections. Edited by Heloise\\nE. Hersey.\\nBryant s Thanatopsis, Sella, and other Poems. Edited by\\nJ. H. Castleman, Michigan Military Academy, Orchard\\nLake, Mich.\\nBulwer-Lytton s Last Days of Pompeii. Edited by J. H.\\nCastleman.\\nBunyan s The Pilgrim s Progress. Edited by Processor\\nHugh Moffatt, Central High School, Philadelphia, Pa.\\nBurke s Speech on Conciliation. Edited by S. C. Newsom,\\nManual Training High School, Indianapolis, Ind.\\nBurns Poems and Songs. Selected by P. M. Buck, Jr.\\nByron s Shorter Poems. Edited by Ralph Hartt Bowles,\\nInstructor in English in The Phillips Exeter Academy,\\nExeter, N. H.\\nByron s Childe Harold s Pilgrimage. Edited by A. J.\\nGeorge.\\nCarlyle s Essay on Burns, with Selections. Edited by\\nWillard C. Gore, Armour Institute, Chicago, 111.\\nCarlyle s Heroes and Hero Worship. Edited by Mrs.\\nAnnie Russell Marble.\\nCarroll s Alice in Wonderland. Edited by Charles A.\\nMcMurry.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0409.jp2"}, "408": {"fulltext": "Pocket Series of English Classics -Continued\\nChaucer s Prologue to the Book of the Tales of Canter-\\nbury, the Knight s Tale, and the Nun s Priest s Tale.\\nEdited by Andrew Ingraham.\\nChurch s The Story of the Iliad.\\nChurch s The Story of the Odyssey.\\nColeridge s The Ancient Mariner. Edited by T. F. Hunt-\\nington, Leland Stanford Junior University.\\nCooper s Last of the Mohicans. Edited by W. K. Wickes,\\nPrincipal of the High School, Syracuse, N. Y.\\nCooper s The Deerslayer.\\nCooper s The Spy. Edited by Samuel Thurber, Jr.\\nDana s Two Years before the Mast. Edited by Homer E.\\nKeyes, Dartmouth College.\\nDefoe s Robinson Crusoe. Abridged. Edited by Clifton\\nJohnson.\\nDefoe s Bobinson dayoe. Part I. Edited by Charles R.\\nGaston.\\nDeQuincey s Confessions of an English Opium-Bater.\\nEdited by Arthlk Beatty, University of Wisconsin.\\nDeQuincey s Joan ol Arc and The English Mail-Coach.\\nEdited by Carol M. Newman, Virginia Polytechnic\\nInstitute.\\nDickens s A Christmas Carol and The Cricket on the\\nHearth. Edited by. Jamjes M. Sawin and Ida M. Thomas.\\nDickens s David Copperfield. Edited by Edwin Fairley. 2\\nvols.\\nDickens s A Tale of Two, Cities. Edited by H. G. Buehler,\\nHotchkiss School- Lakeville, Conn., and L. Mason.\\nDryden s Palamon and Areite. Edited by Percival Chubb,\\nEarly American Orations, 1760-1824. Edited by Louie R.\\nHeller. Instructor in English in the De Witt Clinton\\nHigh School, New York City.\\nEdward s Sermons. Selections. Edited by H. N. Gardiner,\\nProfessor of Philosophy, Smith College.\\nEmerson s Earlier Poems. Edited bv O. C. Gallagher.\\nEmerson s Essays. Selected. Edited by Eugene D.\\nHolmes.\\nEmerson s Representative Men. Edited by Philo Melvyn\\nBuck, Jr., William McKinley High School, St. Louis,\\nMo.\\nEnglish Narrative Poems. Edited by Claude N. Fuess and\\nHenry Ww Sanborn.\\nEpoch-making Papers in United States History. Edited by\\nM. S. Brown, New York University.\\nPranklin s Autobiography.\\nMrs. Craskell s Cranford. Edited by Professor Martin W.\\nSampson, Indiana University.\\nGeorge Eliot s Silas Marner. Edited by E. L. Gulick,\\nLawrenceville School, Lawrenceville, N. J.\\nGeorge Eliot s Mill on the Ploss. Edited by Ida Aushisr-\\nmann.\\nGoldsmith s The Deserted Village and The Traveller\\nEdited by Robert N. Whiteford, High School, Peoria*", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0410.jp2"}, "409": {"fulltext": "Pocket Series of English Classics Continued\\nGoldsmith s Vicar of Wakefield. Edited by H. Vv. Botn-\\nton, Phillips Academy, Andover, Mass.\\nGray s Elegy and Cowper s John Gilpin. Edited by J. H.\\nCastleman.\\nGrimm s Fairy Tales. Edited by James H. Fassett, Super-\\nintendent of Schools, Nashua, N. H.\\nHale s The Man Without a Country. Edited by S. M.\\nTucker.\\nHawthorne s Grandfather s Chair. Edited by H. H. Kings-\\nley, Superintendent of Schools, Evanston, 111.\\nHawthorne s The House of the Seven Gables. Edited by\\nf^T YT )Tr H^TTR ST\\nHawthorne s Mosses from an Old Manse. Edited by C. E.\\nBURBANK.\\nHawthorne s Tanglewood Tales. Edited by R. K. Beggs.\\nHawthorne s Twiee-Told Tales. Edited by C. R. Gaston.\\nHawthorne s The Wonder-Book. Edited by L. E. Wolfe,\\nSuperintendent of Schools, San Antonio, Texas.\\nHolmes Autocrat of the Breakfast Table. Preparing.\\nHolmes Poems (Selections). Edited by J. H. Castleman.\\nHomer s Iliad. Translated by Lang, Leaf and Myers.\\nHomer s Odyssey. Translated by Butcher and Lang.\\nHughes Tom Brown s School Days. Edited by Charles\\nS. Thomas.\\nHuxley s Essays and Addresses. Selections. Edited by P.\\nM. Buck.\\nIrving s Alhambra. Edited by Alfred M. Hitchcock,\\nPublic High School, Hartford, Conn.\\nXrving s Knickerbocker s History of New York. Edited by\\nProf. E. A. Greenlaw, Adelphi College, New York City.\\nIrving s Life of Goldsmith. Edited by Gilbert Sykes\\nBlakely, Teacher of English in the Morris High\\nSchool, New York City.\\nIrving s Sketch Book.\\nIrving s Tales of a Traveler. Edited by Jennie Chase.\\nKeary s Heroes of Asgard. Edited by Charles H. Morss.\\na Kempis Imitation of Christ. Edited by Brother Leo.\\nKingsley s The Heroes Greek Fairy Tales. Edited by\\nCharles A. McMurry, Ph.D.\\nlamb s Essays of Elia. Edited by Helen J. Robins.\\nlamb s Tales from Shakespeare. Edited by A. Ainger.\\nLincoln s Addresses. Edited by Percival Chubb.\\niockhart s Life of Scott. Selections. Preparing.\\nLong-fellow s Courtship of Miles Standard. Edited by\\nHomer P. Lewis.\\nLongfellow s Courtship of Miles Standish, and Mino*\\nPoems. Edited by W. D. Howe, Butler College, In-\\ndianapolis, Tnd.\\nLongfellow s Evangeline. Edited by Lewis B. Semplh,\\nCommercial High School, Brooklyn, N. Y.\\nLongfellow s The Song\u00c2\u00bb of Hiawatha- Edited by Elizabeth\\nJ. Fleming, Teachers Training School; Baltimore, Md,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0411.jp2"}, "410": {"fulltext": "Pocket Series of English Classics Continued\\nLongfellow s Tales of a Wayside Inn. Edited by J. H.\\nCastleman.\\nLowell s Vision of Sir Ziaunfal. Edited by Herbert E.\\nBates, Manual Training High School, Brooklyn, N. Y.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Addison. Edited by C. W. French,\\nPrincipal of Hyde Park High School, Chicago, 111.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Clive. Edited by J. W. Pearce, As-\\nsistant Professor of English in Tulane University.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Johnson. Edited by William Schuy-\\nler, Assistant Principal of the St. Louis High School.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Milton. Edited by C. W. French.\\nMacaulay s Essay on Warren Hastings. Edited by Mrs.\\nM. J. Frick, Los Angeles, Cal.\\nMacaulay s Lays of Ancie\u00c2\u00bbt Borne, and other Poems.\\nEdited by Franklin T. Baker, Teachers Collegjey\\nColumbia University.\\nMalory s Morte d Arthur (Selections). Edited by D. W.\\nS WIGGETT.\\nMemorable Passages from the Bible (Authorized Version).\\nSelected and edited by Fred Newton Scott, Professor\\nof Rhetoric in the University of Michigan.\\nMilton s Comus, Iiycidas, and other Poems. Edited by\\nSamuel E. Allen.\\nMilton s Paradise Lost, Books I and H. Edited by W. I.\\nCrane.\\nOld English Ballads. Edited by William D. Armes, of the\\nUni\\\\ersity of California.\\nOld Testament Selections. Edited by F. N. Scott.\\nOral English. Selections. Preparing.\\nOut of the Northland. Edited by Emilie Kip Baker.\\nPalgrave s Golden Treasury of Song s and Lyrics.\\nParkman s Oregon Trail. Edited by C. H. J. Douglas.\\nPlutarch s Lives of Caesar, Brutus, and Antony. Edited\\nby Martha Brier, Polytechnic High School, Oakland,\\nCal.\\nPoems, Narrative and Lyrical. Edited by Robert P. St.\\nJohn.\\nPoe s Poems. Edited by Charles W. Kent, University of\\nVirginia.\\nPoe s Prose Tales. Selections.\\nPope s Homer s Iliad. Books I, VI, XXXI, XXIV. Edited\\nby Albert Smyth, Head Professor of English Language\\nand Literature, Central High School, Philadelphia, Pa,\\nPope s Homer s Iliad. Complete. Edited by C. E. Rhodes.\\nPope s Homer s Odyssey. Edited by E. S. and Waldo\\nShu m way.\\nPope s The Rape of the Lock. Edited by Elizabeth M.\\nKing.\\nChristina Bossetti s Poems. Selections. Edited by\\nCharles Bell Burke.\\nBuskin s Crown of Wild Olive and the Queen of the Air,\\nEdited by W, F, Melton,", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0412.jp2"}, "411": {"fulltext": "Pocket Series of English Classics Continued\\nBuskin s Sesame and Lilies and The King of the Golden\\nRiver. Edited by Herbeet E. Bates.\\nScott s Ivanhoe. Edited by Alfred M. Hitchcock.\\nScott s Kenilworth. Edited by J. H. Castleman.\\nScott s Lady of the Lake. Edited by Elizabeth A. Pack-\\nard.\\nScott s Lay of the Last Minstrel. Edited by Ralph H.\\nBowles.\\nScott s Marmion. Edited by George B. Aiton, State In-\\nspector of High Schools for Minnesota.\\nScott s Quentin Durward. Edited by Arthur Llewellyn\\nEno, Instructor in the University of Illinois.\\nScott s The Talisman, Edited by Frederick Treudlet,\\nState Normal College, Ohio University.\\nSelect Orations. Edited by A. M. Hall.\\nSelected Poems for Required Reading 1 in Secondary Schools.\\nEdited by H. N. Boynton.\\nShakespeare s As You Like It. Edited by Charles Robert\\nGaston.\\nShakespeare s Hamlet. Edited by L. A. Sherman, Professor\\nof English Literature in the University of Nebraska.\\nShakespeare s Henry V. Edited by Ralph Hartt Bowles,\\nPhillips Exeter Academy, Exeter, N. H.\\nShakespeare s Julius Caesar. Edited by George W. Huf-\\nford and Lois G. Hufford, High School, Indianapolis,\\nInd.\\nShakespeare s King Lear. Edited by Philo M. Buck.\\nShakespeare s Macbeth. Edited by C. W. French.\\nShakespeare s Merchant of Venice. Edited by Charlotte\\nW. Underwood, Lewis Institute, Chicago, 111.\\nShakespeare s Midsummer Night s Dream. Edited by E. C.\\nNotes.\\nShakespeare s Richard H. Edited by James Hugh Mof-\\nfat t.\\nShakespeare s The Tempest. Edited by S. C. Newson.\\nShakespeare s Twelfth Niglrfc. Edited bv Edward \u00c2\u00a3P.\\nMorton.\\nShelley and Keats Poems. Selections. Edited by S. C.\\nNewson.\\nSheridan s The Rivals, and The School for Scandal. Edit d\\nby W. D. Howe.\\nShort Stories. A Collection. Edited by L. A. Pittenger.\\nSouthern Orators. Edited by J. H. McConnell.\\nSouthern Poets. Selections. Edited by W. L. Weber.\\nSpenser s Paerie Queene, Book I. Edited by George Arm-\\nstrong WIauchope, Professor of English in the South\\nCarolina College.\\nStevenson s Kidnapped. Edited by John Thompson Brown.\\nStevenson s Master of Ballantrae. Edited by H. A. White.\\nStevenson s Travels with a Bonkey and an Inland Voyage.\\nEdited by W. L. Cross.\\nStevenson s Treasure Island. Edited by H. A. Vance,\\nProfessor of English in the University of Nashville.", "height": "3399", "width": "2413", "jp2-path": "sketchb00irvi_0413.jp2"}, "412": {"fulltext": "Pocket Series of English Classics Continued\\nSwift s Gulliver s Travels- Edited by Clifton Johnson.\\nTennyson s Idylls of the King 1 Edited by Charles W.\\nFrench.\\nTennyson s In Memoriam. Edited by J. W. Pearce.\\nTennyson s Shorter Poems. Edited by Charles Read\\nNutter.\\nTennyson s The Princess. Edited by Wilson Farrand.\\nThackeray s Henry Esmond. Edited by John Bell Henne-\\nman, University of the South, Sewanee, Tenn.\\nThackeray s English Humorists. Edited by J. C Castle-\\nman.\\nThoreau s Walden. Edited by Byron Ries.\\nTrevelyan s Life of Macaulay. Selections. Preparing.\\nVirgil s Aeneid. Translated bj* Conington. Edited by\\nEdgar S. Shumway.\\nWashington s Farewell Address, and Webster s First Bun-\\nker Hill Oration. Edited by William T. Peck.\\nWhlttier s Snowbound and other Early Poems. Edited by\\nA. L. Bouton.\\nJohn Woolman s Journal.\\nWordsworth s Shorter Poems. 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