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CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2528.P32 
 
 Literary life of James K. Paulding. 
 
 3 1924 022 500 437 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022500437 
 
LITERAEY LIFE 
 
 JAMES K. PAULDING. 
 
<y>-'*^'^^ C 
 
 2 
 
 -Sy •* ^ F Balpiik&inzi a Dzawia^ ijrJisefk 'm.,i 
 
LITEEAEY LIFE 
 
 JAMES K. PAULDING. 
 
 COMPILED BY HIS SON, 
 
 WILLIAM ir^PAULDING, 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 CHAELES SCRIBNER AND COMPANY. 
 
 1867. 
 3> 
 
A.'2-IOOT-i| 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congieas, in tlie year 1867, by 
 
 •WILLIAM 1. PAUIDIIfO, 
 
 In the District Conrt of the United States for the Southern District of New York. 
 
 OAUBBISOB: 
 8TSRE0TTPED AHI» FBIHTBD BT JOHN WILSON AND SON, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Prominent among the pioneers of American let- 
 ters, before Literature, had become a profession in 
 this country, was James K. Paulding. One of the 
 most popular of our authors for awhile, towards 
 the close of his extended life various circumstances 
 kept him much in the background. This may prove, 
 upon the whole, a fortunate accident for his pros- 
 pect of a living remembrance. To be too heavily 
 weighted is a disadvantage in the struggle for a 
 name ; and very much of what he wrote in his 
 life, having been of a merely temporary or contro- 
 versial character, has lost its significance to men, 
 and need not be packed again upon his back. 
 There remains what, in my opinion, deserves to be 
 brought again to light. 
 
 In justice to the talents of the man, it should be 
 observed that he was in no exact sense an author. 
 Early involved in political disquisition, and in the 
 discussion of principles which he considered as be- 
 ing the very foundation stones of our system, he 
 devoted almost the whole of his mature life, that 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 was not absorbed in official routine, to newspaper 
 writing upon subjects of this nature. His adven- 
 tures in literature proper were rather the episodes 
 of his intellectual activity than the real labors of 
 his mind. 
 
 Holding a prolific and facile pen, and working 
 so much for immediate demand, he fell into a hasty 
 and careless style, impatient of correction; and, ac- 
 cordingly, he never found or made time to do him- 
 self justice. Notwithstanding this, throughout all 
 his various productions and in the midst of his 
 most heedless composition, occur passages of de- 
 scription, or little sketches of real or fictitious 
 character or incident, or quaint vistas into the 
 idiosyncrasies of his own mind, which, though 
 dashed off" currente calamo, are marked by a feli- 
 city of diction or originality of view which casts a 
 new light or a novel grace over the most hack- 
 neyed subject. Many of these are so fuU of the 
 spirit of the author or of his time, so complete in 
 themselves, so admirable in all respects, that I felt 
 that they ought not to be lost, without an effort to 
 preserve them. I have, therefore, in the following 
 pages, assembled enough to illustrate at least his 
 great versatility. 
 
 I have been furnished, through the courtesy of 
 Mr. Pierre M. Irving, with letters of my father to 
 Washington Irving; by Mr. J. Carson Brevoort, 
 with letters to his father, Henry Brevoort Jr.; and 
 
PRBPACB. V 
 
 by Mr. Gouverneur Kemble, General Thomas Cad- 
 wallader of Trenton, and Mr. J. S. Sims of Pacolet 
 Mills South Carolina, with letters to themselves 
 respectively — which I have to regret that the plan 
 of this volume, and the bounds I had set up for 
 myself, prevented me from using, except to a lim- 
 ited extent. 
 
 But the life of a writer is the succession of his 
 works. And this is more particularly true of our 
 author. Little gifted with the dramatic faculty, 
 neither was his best talent that of narration. 
 Rather he was by nature an essayist, and, of aU 
 men, wrote most directly out of his own experi- 
 ence, observation, or reflection. His writings were 
 the immediate out-pourings of his thought; his ex- 
 pression of sentiment was genuine. What he gave 
 to the public was the manifestation. of himself. 
 
 Feeling sure that I could frame a species of run- 
 ning commentary of the little studies, or " bits ", (or 
 call them what one may), before alluded to, which 
 would build up a better idea of the individual, and 
 be more interesting to the public, than any dry de- 
 tails of uneventful biography; and considering that 
 they form in fact the delineation of his character, 
 the true story of his mind; — I have woven them 
 into the . chronology of his days, and styled the 
 whole, being the present volume, the Literary 
 Life op James K. Paulding. I propose to stand 
 apart, furnishing only what links may be necessary 
 
■n PREFACE. 
 
 to the chain of events, or what observations may 
 seem to me essential to the thorough understanding 
 of the author and the man ; and it is my aim, in 
 this and the ensuing volumes of this re-publication, 
 to preserve what was most national, and, w^hat in 
 his case is almost synonymous, the most character- 
 istic, of my father's writings. 
 
 Any one who should collate the forthcoming with 
 previous editions of Mr. Paulding's works would 
 find sundry changes of expression, and corrections 
 of various kinds. For some of these I am respon- 
 sible, and it is proper for me to explain why I 
 have taken such liberties: Some years before my 
 father's death, I had a conversation with him about 
 his published works. They were at the time mainly 
 beyond his control, but I urged him to put them 
 in what he would like to be their permanent shape. 
 He replied, that he was too old to undergo the 
 labor, and that he meant to bequeath to me the 
 care of his reputation, if worth caring for — or in 
 words to that effect. In accordance, as I under- 
 stood it, with this arrangement, he left to me all 
 his literary property, to the exclusion of his other 
 children. I have felt therefore that I was entitled 
 to more than the ordinary latitude of an editor, 
 and have seized upon that privilege of revision 
 which the pre-occupation, or the indifference, of the 
 author, allowed to escape himself. 
 
 The changes are mostly in the shape of omis- 
 
PEEPACB. Vll 
 
 sions of tautological matter, or corrections of inac- 
 curacies of language due to carelessness. The free 
 substitutions of words are, in a great measure, mere 
 transfers of his own expressions ; though I have 
 occasionally ventured to introduce one of my own. 
 But I am confident that I have not, in any way, 
 or in the least, distorted or disturbed that more 
 ethereal part of his work which is the measure and 
 figure of his mind. 
 
 Bditob. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 August 22, 1778-1797. [iEi. 0-19.] 
 
 Paqb 
 bibth — family — father — mother — eaelt dats ... 15 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 1797-1807. [^T. 19-29.] 
 
 LAUNCH IN NEW YORK — BREAKING IN — FIRST POETIC EFFORT 
 — LETTER TO WASHINGTON IRVING — A STUDY — THE SALMA- 
 GUNDI SET — SALMAGUNDI 29 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 1808-1813. IMt. 30-35.] 
 
 habits of authorship — the summer morn — the divert- 
 ing history of john bull and brother jonathan — the 
 lay of the scottish piddle — review by washington 
 irving — sketch of, and extracts from, the lay . . 42 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1813-1814. [^T. 35-36.] 
 
 THE ANALBCTIC MAGAZINE — THE IDEA OF A TRUE PATRIOT . . 56 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1815-1816. [Mt. 37-38.] 
 the united states and england — secretary of the boars 
 of navy commissioners — ruins of the capitol — misses 
 his old friends — impressions of washington city — 
 
 james madison — sundry celebrities 68 
 
 [ix] 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1816-1817. r^T. 38-39.] 
 
 Pasb 
 
 lbttees peom the south — letteb to irving — a rustic 
 
 runekal the shinplaster dynasty character op 
 
 brother jonathan — the caphon rock 78 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 1818. [^T. 40.] 
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN — LETTERS TO IRVING ABOUT — "CROAKER*' 
 
 ON — HALLECK ON — OUTLINE OP, AND EXTRACTS PROM . . 93 
 
 CHAPTER Vm. 
 
 1818-1819. [_Mt. 40-41.] 
 
 marriage — second series op salmagundi — evert a. duy- 
 ckinck on — letter to irving about allusion to, in 
 
 "pANNY" — LETTEB PROM IRVING — A WARNING 10 BIOG- 
 RAPHERS — THE CHURCHYARD 116 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1819-1820. IMt. 41-42.] 
 
 second series op salmagundi continued an eccentric 
 
 sage — hic pinis pandi — early recollections of james 
 
 k. paulding 132 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1821-1822. [^T. 43-44.] 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN IN HADES — A SKETCH OP OLD ENGLAND, 
 BY A NEW ENGLAND MAN — REVIEWED IN " THE QUARTERLY " 
 — THE ROYAL, AND THE PRESIDENTIAL, HOUSEHOLD . . . 155 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 1823. [JEt. 45.] 
 
 koningsmarke, the long finnb — letter to irving about 
 
 governor piper — the governor's " palace" 163 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 CliAPTER Xn. 
 
 1823-1825. [^T. 45-47.] 
 
 Fagb 
 navy agent foe new york — geoege l. stoebe — lettek to 
 levlng — john bull in amebica; or, the new munchausen 
 lettees to leving about well received in england 
 
 — G. KEMBLe'S SETTLEMENT AT COLD SPRING ANADOSTAN — 
 
 LOST ! . . ■ 182 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 1826. [JEt. 48.] 
 
 the meeey tales of the three wise men of gotham — in- 
 
 teoductoet dissertation — the fiest philosophee 
 
 the second philosophee — the thied philosopher 
 
 panegyric on the common law — death and burial of 
 doctor gallgoiha — catasteophe of the bowl . . . 191 
 
 CHAPTER XrV. 
 
 1828-1832. [^T. 60-54.] 
 
 THE NEW MIEROR FOE TRAVELLERS THE OLD MAN'S CAROUSAL 
 
 TALES OF THE GOOD WOMAN CHRONICLES OF THE CITY 
 
 OF GOTHAM — THE LION OF THE WEST LETTER FROM 
 
 DAVID CROCKETT LETTEE TO lEVING — THE DUTCHMAN'S 
 
 FIEESIDE — WESTWARD HO ! 216 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 1832-1835. [^T. 54-67.] 
 
 LETTERS TO IRVING — CONTRACT WITH HAEPEE AND BEOTHBES 
 
 — LETTERS, TO BREVOOET AND lEVING — EANDOLPH OF ROA- 
 NOKE 234 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 1835-1836. IMt. 57-58.] 
 
 A LIFE OF WASHINGTON A LEGEND OF THE BIEd'S NEST THE 
 
 TOMB OP WASHINGTON — THE CHAEACTEB OF WASHINGTON . 244 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 1836-1838. [:^T. 58-60.] 
 
 BLAVEET IN THE UNITED STATES — OF NEWSPAPERS — THE BOOK 
 OP SAINT NICnOLAS — THE WOOING OF — THE DEATH OP — 
 LETTEBS TO KEMBLE 262 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 1838-1840. [^T. 60-62.] 
 
 SECEETAKT OF THE NAVY — LETTEKS, TO KEMBLE, IKTING, AND 
 BEEVOOKT — A GIPT PROM FAIRY LAND — LETTER PROM 
 
 GRBENOUGH, THE SCULPTOR THE MAINE BOUNDARY — JOHN 
 
 FORSYTH, OP GEORGIA — STEAM — HEMP — TRAVEL — POLI- 
 TICS — PHILOSOPHY 270 
 
 CHAPTER XrX. 
 1841-1843. [Mt. 63-65.] 
 
 retirement from public life — return to new york 
 
 death op his wife — letter from martin tan buren — 
 tour through the south and west — letters — andrew 
 
 jackson the mississippi — the prairie — in praise of 
 
 the spinning wheel 284 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 1844-1848. IMt. 66-70.] 
 philosophy op life — removal to hyde park — the old 
 continental ; or, the price op liberty — extracts 
 prom — letters from martin van buren — american 
 comedies — letter to kemble — the hudson river 
 rail-road 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 1849. [iEi. 71.] 
 
 THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER — DEDICATION OF — MORSELS 
 
 OP WISDOM — EULOGIUM ON THE DIVINE TOBACCO PIPE 
 
 THE WILD MAN IN THE WILD WOODS — BLOOD-PUDDING LIT- 
 ERATURE — CAPTAIN ARIEL SKEERING — EXCOMMUNICATION 
 OP THE DEMON OF WATER POWER — AN OLD AUTHOR'S PART- 
 ING ADVICE TO HIS READERS 313 
 
CONTENTS. XIU 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 1849. [iET. 71.] 
 
 Faqb 
 
 bxteactb beom an unpublished political wobk — the 
 
 ameeican people 887 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. ^ 
 
 1850-1852. [iET. 72-74.] 
 
 LETTEKS, TO T. CADWALLADER, G. KEMBLE, MISS E. P., W. I. 
 
 PAULDING THE LITBBABT 'WOKLD — ALMOKAN THE WISE — 
 
 THE OLD man's BLESSINGS 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 1852-1865. [JEt. 74-77.] 
 
 letters, to j. s. sims, miss e. p., w. i. paulding — the flight 
 of time — the stokt oe an autograph — relations be- 
 tween irting and paulding 359 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 1856-1858. [JEt. 78-80.] 
 
 letters, to g. kemble, i. g. pearson, j. s. sims — the deso- 
 late old man — the angel op time — wisdom and knowl- 
 EDGE 870 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 1859 - Apkil 6, 1860. [JEt. 81-81 yr. 7 mo. 16 days.] 
 
 FAILING HEALTH — LETTER TO W. I. PAULDING — PERSON AND 
 CHARACTER OF JAMES K. PAULDING LITERARY CHARACTER- 
 ISTICS — THE poet's last STRAIN — THE LAST LETTER^ 
 DEATH 380 
 
LITERARY LIFE 
 
 JAMES K. PAULDING. 
 
 I. 
 
 Aug. 22, 1778-1797. [JEi. 0-19.] 
 
 BIRTH — FAMILY — FATHER — MOTHER — EARLY DAYS. 
 
 William Paulding married Catharine Ogden, in the 
 city of New York, on the 25th of July, 1762. Of the 
 nine children whom in the course of time they had, 
 the eighth, James Kieke Paulding, was born at Great- 
 Nine-Partners in the County of Dutchess and State 
 of New York, on the 22d of August, 1778, in the 
 midst of the Revolutionary war. 
 
 From documents and records yet extant, it appears 
 probable that the first of the name on this continent 
 came hither at, or very shortly" after, the surrender of 
 the city of Nieuw Amsterdam to the English, in 1664 : 
 also, that there were two brothers. One of these set- 
 tled in Ulster County, to which his descendants have 
 adhered, with an occasional divergence to Dutchess ; 
 the other branch has fluctuated between Westchester 
 County and the City of New York. 
 
 The Ulster men were evidently notabilities in their 
 time — judges, colonels, high-sheriffs, and what not; 
 great speculators likewise in wild lands. I do not 
 
 [16] 
 
16 LITEEAEY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 know, however, that, though useful in their day, they 
 ever did any thing to commend themselves especially 
 to the remembrance of posterity. The others appear 
 to have been simply respectable folk, cutting no par- 
 ticular figure in the world. Joost or Joseph Paul- 
 dinck, however, as early as 1683, is set down as 
 " freeman of the city of New York." From him the 
 descending line is traceable with tolerable clearness to 
 William, the father of James. 
 
 This Joseph, Joost, or Yoost Pauldinck is men- 
 tioned in the records of Rye, Westchester County, in 
 1667; Henry Pawling in those of Kingston, Ulster 
 County, in 1666. At first sight there seems to be 
 some discrepancy between the names. But their pro- 
 prietors, and others that came after them, lived in the 
 days of that noble superiority to the trammels of 
 speUing which sometknes so bewilders the antiquary. 
 Moreover, the Dutch and English languages were bat- 
 tling for supremacy in the country, and were strangely 
 mingled. Accordingly, the name appears, often with 
 no initial capital, indifferently sometimes in the same 
 document, as Pawling, Paelden, Pauling, Palingh, 
 Paulding, Paeldin, Pauldin, Pauwldin, Pauldinck, 
 Palding. One ingenious scribe was so plethoric of 
 letters as to write Pauwldingh. 
 
 I suppose the name to have been properly Pawling, 
 and the family English. My father, however, in a 
 memorandum in my possession, states that his grand- 
 father and grandmother spoke Dutch, and attended 
 the old church at the entrance of Sleepy HoUow, 
 where the preaching was entirely in that language. 
 But, escaping from these speculations, I pass at once 
 to the Revolutionary period. 
 
FATHER. 17 
 
 It seems that William Paulding, father of James, 
 ran away from home, took to the sea, rose to the 
 command of several ships in succession sailing out of 
 the port of New York, probably traded a little on his 
 own account, and, about the year 1767, moved to 
 Tarrytown in Westchester County, where he built 
 himself a house, and opened a store. In the prosecu- 
 tion of his business he became well acquainted with 
 and respected by the farmers of the county, and, at 
 the breaking-out of the War of Independence was in 
 comfortable, if not opulent, circumstances, and a man 
 of considerable weight and influence in the com- 
 munity. 
 
 Every schoolboy knows one Paulding, named 
 " John," and how he earned his motto of " Fidelity." 
 This other, uncle of that popular hero, worked in his 
 way too for the common cause. Member of the first 
 " Committee of Safety " in New York ; acting as a 
 State Commissary to the Revolutionary forces ; inhab- 
 itant of " The Neutral Ground ; " standing forth as a 
 representative man against the powerful Tory influ- 
 ences of this district; obnoxious to all manner of 
 lawless characters in his neighborhood; obliged, in 
 consequence, to remove his famUy from the sphere of 
 his duties ; and expected, in behalf of a government 
 with little credit and no cash, to procure supplies from 
 an impoverished people — altogether, his was not a 
 pleasant position, or course of life. But he did not 
 shirk it, nor, when the time came, the last responsi- 
 bility. Himself a man of considerable property for 
 those days, at length the crisis arrived, when, on an 
 urgent occasion, the promises he could make as a 
 public agent absolutely failed. Nevertheless it was 
 
18 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 necessary that the troops should be fed. Whereupon 
 he marched into the gulf, pledged his entire fortune, 
 surmounted the emergency, and felt himself a ruined 
 man. 
 
 So it proved. In 1784 — (Independence acknowl- 
 edged) — he presented the foUowing brief statement 
 of his claims : — 
 
 " To the HonV^ the Legislature of the State of New 
 
 York 
 The Petition of William Paulding humUy sheweth — 
 
 That your Petitioner was appointed to supply the 
 MUitia under the Command of General Clinton as 
 will appear by his Appointment dated August 1776, 
 a true Copy of which is hereunto annexed — That 
 your Petitioner took charge as directed and supply'd 
 them with Rations, agreeable to the Continental es- 
 tablishment ; after leaving the service, your Petitioner 
 with considerable expence, got his accounts Liqui- 
 dated by Jonathan Trumbull Esqr Commissioner for 
 settling accounts for the Continent and as the Legis- 
 lature having as yet made no provision for the pay- 
 ment of his Accounts leaves your Petitioner liable to 
 Arrest for monies due in consequence of the said 
 Appointment and for which he has given his private 
 Obligations — therefore 
 
 Yoar Petitioner Humbly Prays that he may have 
 permission granted to him of purchasing by Appraise- 
 ment, of the Commissioners, as much forfeited Lands 
 as amounts to the ball* of his Accounts or such other 
 relief as you in yom- wisdom shall think best — 
 
 William Paulding. 
 
 New Yokk 171? Octobek 1784." 
 
INFLUENCES ON YOUTH, 19 
 
 This wag no great matter to ask or to grant. But 
 the day of need was passed, and the Honorable the 
 Legislature turned a deaf ear to the disabled patriot. 
 As anticipated, he was arrested for debt, and confined 
 in a log prison at White Plains, about six miles from 
 Tarrytown to which place the family had now re- 
 turned. My father writes, late in life: — 
 
 " As my elder brothers were absent at school in 
 Hackinsack, it fell to my lot every Saturday to carry 
 him a supply of those little comforts which we could 
 afford to send." 
 
 " An old borrowed horse " transported the boy, with 
 his " supply of clean clothes and other little necessa- 
 ries." 
 
 " It was a melancholy journey, and I cannot think 
 on it, even at this distant period, without painful emo- 
 tions. He had not been there many months before 
 the jail took fire ; my father was released by this acci- 
 dent, and, nobody opposing, walked home, where he 
 remained ever afterward undisturbed by his creditors. 
 He had given them aU he had, and they left him to 
 enjoy his poverty in quiet. He was a proud man, 
 and the ingratitude of his country, joined to the dis- 
 grace of a prison, though they did not produce despair, 
 so operated on his mind that he ever afterward neg- 
 lected the means of retrieving his fortune." 
 
 Elsewhere my father declares : " He never made a 
 second application for the settlement of his accounts," 
 " which, so long as I can recollect, served as waste 
 paper about the house." 
 
 In fact, yielding himself up to a disgust for the 
 world, not to be commended, but perhaps excusable, 
 he turned himself graveward, at which bourn in pro- 
 
20 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 cess of time he arrived — not however till February 
 20th, 1825 — in his ninetieth year. Doubtless stirring 
 incidents occurred in his experience : but he was not 
 a person to prate of his own deeds, and they have 
 perished from human memory. My father testifies 
 that, after his misfortunes, " he resorted to books for 
 employment, perhaps consolation, and it is probably 
 to his example I owe a habit of reading which has 
 accompanied me through life." Again, he says : " He 
 was a man of very extensive reading, as well as great 
 experience of the world, having as a navigator visited 
 various quarters, and in latter years of his life one of 
 his favorite recreations was to gather around him his 
 younger children and those of the neighbors, and tell 
 them stories of his own adventures, or those of Sind- 
 bad the sailor, or some other hero of the Arabian 
 Nights." 
 
 A granddaughter describes him as a small man, 
 with blue eyes, light complexion, and fine white hair, 
 always studying newspapers. Indeed, according to 
 her account, if he found a piece anywhere, though 
 but six inches square, he would pick it up, smooth it 
 out, and come to anchor in the first convenient spot 
 to decipher it. Reading matter was not so plentiful 
 in those days as now, and he had probably exhausted 
 his stock. My father says of himself: "We had a 
 few books saved from the wreck; but still, at this 
 moment, [1852], I am conscious that this very circum- 
 stance gave to my early reading a value far beyond 
 that of my subsequent life. What I read I read 
 thoroughly, and what I learned I learned well. A 
 book was then a treasure, now it is a superfluity. 
 They follow so closely at each others' heels, that the 
 
INFLUENCES ON TOOTH, 21 
 
 footsteps of one obliterate those of the preceding, like 
 the waves of the ocean." 
 
 Leading this harmless and placid life his days roUed 
 on unmarked ; and so, of the later years of this long- 
 lived man remains now but a single specific record. 
 Out of the dim past looms a quaint picture from the 
 hand of a grandson who saw him once, an old old 
 man, sitting in the sunlight and poring over the pages 
 of Hoole's Ariosto. 
 
 The mother was gifted with greater energy. After 
 her husband succumbed to his cruel stroke, she be- 
 came almost literally the life of the entire family. In 
 a burst of gratitude, her son James wrote of " a series 
 of kindness and benefits received from my dear 
 mother, such as few children ever knew, and none 
 can ever repay." And again, in a memorandum 
 addressed to his children : — 
 
 " I will give you a sketch of her character and per- 
 son, for well does she deserve to be remembered with 
 gratitude and veneration by us all. She was small in 
 stature, with dark complexion, sparkling black eyes, 
 and raven hair. When the spirit of my father was 
 broken by the ruin of his affairs and the imprisonment 
 of his person, the whole weight of supporting the 
 family, at least those who were too young to support 
 themselves, fell on my mother. ... To her conduct I 
 can never do justice. By her thrift, her activity and 
 industry, and by that almost magic with which some 
 women seem to achieve impossibilities, she managed, 
 with the aid of occasional acts of kindness from her 
 married daughters and her sister in New York, not 
 only to feed and clothe us, but to send us to school, 
 not at the expense of the parish but her own. This 
 
22 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 she did by plying her needle, morning, noon, and 
 night, with a cheerful alacrity that diffused itself over 
 the whole house. ... All that I have ever been I owe 
 to her." 
 
 The granddaughter herein before mentioned recalls 
 her in similar terms, as very small, but symmetrical ; 
 adding that she was light and active in her move- 
 ments, and at seventy-eight used to trip up and down 
 a steep flight of staks in her house, like a girl. 
 
 At the period above refeiTed to, as my father (in a 
 communication addressed in 1852 to the Hon. Joseph 
 S. Sims of South Carolina) strongly expresses it, 
 the family " were not only poor, but steeped in pov- 
 erty;" and in a letter to Gouverneur Kemble, in 
 1839, he observes : " In my early days I have aU but 
 known what it was to want bread." Nevertheless 
 the mother lived to see all her children comfortable, 
 and some wealthy and distinguished. At length she 
 also died, November 25th, 1830, in her eighty-ninth 
 year. 
 
 But I have been anticipating. To return to James 
 K. Paiilding — I have stated that he was born at 
 Great-Nine-Partners. He supposes that his father 
 owned property there. At one time the Ulster branch 
 of the family certainly did. I imagine it was an 
 additional inducement to sending his family there 
 that the people of the neighborhood were sturdy 
 opponents of the Crown — "a riotous people and 
 Levellers by principle," as Captain Paul Ricaut of 
 the British army reported in 1771, 
 
 ■In reference to his birthplace our author remarks: 
 " The prominent part taken by my father in behalf of 
 the liberties of his country had made him highly ob- 
 
INFLUENCES ON YOUTH. 23 
 
 noxious to the British then in the possession of the city 
 of New York, as well as the Tories who abounded 
 in the lower parts of Westchester, It became unsafe 
 to leave his family at Tarrytown, and he accordingly 
 removed them to a place called The Nine Partners in 
 the County of Dutchess. After their departure the 
 marauding parties often threatened to set our house 
 on fire, but were deterred by the fear of burning that 
 of a staunch old Tory who lived directly opposite. 
 The house therefore escaped with a few shot-holes 
 from the firing of the British vessels passing up the 
 river, the marks of which may still be seen. 
 
 " I was born during this exile from home, and my 
 first recollections are connected with this spot. I vis- 
 ited it some years ago, and was pleased to find that 
 though I left it a child of only three or four years " — 
 [from what he subsequently says he must have been 
 at least five] — " my memory had not altogether 
 deceived me. The house was gone; but the little 
 knoll on which it stood, the green meadow which 
 spread out at its foot, and the fine clear brook that 
 flowed through it in graceful windings, were still 
 there just as I had pictured them in my mind. The 
 cbuntry around was beautiful, and it was here in aU 
 probability I imbibed that taste, almost passion, for 
 the charms of Nature, which to this day furnishes 
 one of my most cherished enjoyments. I remember 
 nothing but the scene ; the incidents which occurred, 
 if worth recollecting or recording, have passed away, 
 and not a shadow remains, 
 
 " At the conclusion of the war, my father, who used 
 to visit us when the army went into Winter quarters, 
 came home, and took us shortly afterward to our old 
 
24 LITEEAEY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 residence at Tarrytown. Here my recollections be- 
 come more distinct. I remember coming down the 
 hill, and most especially the fine spring which gushed 
 from its foot directly opposite to our house. The 
 house itself excited my admiration, for it was the 
 largest I had ever seen. It looked to me like a church 
 without a steeple, and I continued to view it in that 
 light, until I first came home after residing in New 
 York, when it seemed to have dwindled into a very 
 insignificant building." 
 
 The influences upon the youthful mind of James 
 K. Paulding were of a marked nature, and produced 
 a corresponding, effect. His very birth, (his mother a 
 refugee from her home by reason of British hostility), 
 was almost a pledge of inherited enmity. Again, he 
 writes, " My father, William Paulding, married Cath- 
 arine Ogden, of the family of that name in New 
 Jersey. Her father's name was Nathaniel, and one 
 of the earliest, as well as most painful recollections, of 
 my childhood, is the figm-e of this aged man whose 
 few remaining hairs were as white as snow. He had 
 been brutally cut across the head by a party of British 
 soldiers during the Revolutionary war, because he 
 would not cry, ' God save the King.' A partial and 
 permanent derangement of intellect was the conse- 
 quence, and I remember him walking along the beach 
 at Tarrytown, picking up sticks, and talking to 
 himself about the reign of Queen Anne of which 
 he had a history which he often read, and how 
 the Tories were no better than highway robbers." 
 When to all this is added the fact that he grew 
 up in a district reeking with tales of British, Hes- 
 sian, or Tory atrocities, none can wonder that he 
 
INFLUENCES ON YOUTH. 25 
 
 imbibed a lasting prejudice against England and 
 every thing English. 
 
 His boyish days were but gloomy. " As to myself," 
 he says, " there was little sunshine in my youth. . . . 
 For some time after the conclusion of the war there 
 were very few schools in our part of the country, and 
 the nearest schoolhouse was upward of two miles 
 from our residence. At this country school, which 
 was a log hut, I received my education. It was — as 
 intimated before — upward of two miles from home, 
 and there I went, and thence returned every day, 
 almost always without a companion. I never look 
 back on that period of life which most people contem- 
 plate with so much regret as the season of blossoms, 
 without a feeling of dreary sadness. From the expe- 
 rience of my early life I never wish to be young 
 again." 
 
 He appears at this time to have been living with an 
 uncle on Sawmill River, back of Tarrytown, for the 
 convenience of attending this school; and, there being 
 no young people in the house, his only companion 
 was a dumb girl, daughter of an old soldier who was 
 allowed free quarters on the farm. Leading this life 
 he became dreamy and melancholy; fell sick; was 
 exercised with the fear of death ; and came near hav- 
 ing his brain addled at a revival, which, he says, 
 resulted in the suicide of a neighbor. 
 
 " As for myself, I know not what the result might 
 have been, had not the squire" [his schoolmaster] 
 "just about this time been appointed Surrogate of the 
 county, whereupon he at once abandoned his divine 
 vocation of teaching the young idea how to shoot, 
 and devoted himself equally to the concerns of the 
 
26 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 living and the dead. On going to school next morn- 
 ing, a note was received from the shepherd dismissing 
 his flock, which signalized its satisfaction by turning 
 the tables and benches upside down, scattering the 
 contents of the chimney over the floor, and themselves 
 in all directions. I returned to the house of my 
 mother, and thus ended my education, which first 
 and last cost about fifteen dollars, certainly quite as 
 much as it was worth."- . - " The only circumstance 
 worthy of note which occurred during my stay at 
 Sawmill River, and possibly gave a direction to my 
 whole life, was my encountering among the few 
 books of my uncle. Goldsmith's Citizen of the World. 
 I read it, I believe, twenty times at least, and if I have 
 any taste or style, I owe them to that charming work 
 of the most delightful of all English writers." 
 
 " At the time I returned home I was a good-sized 
 boy, some twelve or thirteen years old. My disposi- 
 tion was proud and shy. . . . My life at Tarrytown 
 after leaving school was weary and irksome. The 
 present was a blank and the future almost a void. 
 My mind was sufficiently active, but my body indo- 
 lent. . . . There was never any employment for my 
 idle hours. ... I was always fond of reading, but 
 we had few books, and there was no public library." 
 He records himself as having become " the most con- 
 spicuous idler in the village ; " and so reckless of pub- 
 lic opinion, that when the old folk turned up the 
 whites of their eyes and the palms of their hands at 
 him and prophesied he would come to no good, it 
 troubled him not. 
 
 About this time "my brother William had pre- 
 sented me with a gun, and I took to shooting, but 
 
INFLUENCES ON YOUTH. 27 
 
 in rambling about the woods and fields, instead of 
 minding my business employed myself in building 
 castles in the air, at which I was always very expert. 
 One day, having cocked my gun on hearing a quail 
 whistle, I neglected to uncock it after having fright- 
 ened the bird away, and was leaning listlessly against 
 a tree with the gun resting against my shoulder, when 
 somehow or other my foot touched the trigger and it 
 went off, carrying away a part of the brim of my hat, 
 but doing no other harm. The conclusion I drew 
 from this was that I was not cut out for a sportsman, 
 and from that time I took to fishing which I found 
 suited me exactly, as I could stick the end of my 
 rod into a rock, and indulge myself in a brown study 
 at pleasure. . . . 
 
 " The only time I ever distinguished myself in the 
 piscatory line was in catching a bass twenty two 
 inches long, the greatest feat I ever performed. In 
 the winter I used to set traps and snares, and on one 
 memorable occasion came down Tarrytown hill with 
 five quails, a partridge, and a rabbit. Do you think 
 any hero returning from the conquest of kingdoms 
 ever felt half as proud as I did?" 
 
 I have dwelt upon these particulars of my father's 
 childhood and boyish days, perhaps longer than ne- 
 cessary ; but I have done so because they furnish a 
 key to his character and conduct throughout life, and 
 naturally lead on to nearly all the opinions and ideas 
 he embodied in the writings of so many subsequent 
 years. 
 
 " I lived," he says, " pretty much in a world of my 
 own creating." He had grown up "to the age of 
 eighteen or nineteen, without ever going five mUes 
 
28 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 from home." Thus he went mooning about, and 
 passed into the rhyming stage of existence, about as 
 unfit for a struggle with the great world as any youth 
 could well be. 
 
II. 
 
 1797-1807. [^T. 19-29.] 
 
 LAUNCH IH NEW TOEK — BEEAKING IN — FIEST POETIC EFFORT — LET- 
 TER TO WASHINGTON IRVING — A STUDY — THE SALMAGUNDI SET — 
 SALMAGUNDI. 
 
 But the plunge was at hand. " At length the time 
 came for emerging into that world I had hitherto only 
 contemplated through the medium of fancy. My 
 elder brother [William] had procured me a situation 
 in a public office, and furnished me the means of 
 making my debut respectably. I was forthwith 
 launched from comparative solitude into the bustle 
 of a great city, and I weU remember the first shock 
 given to my sensitiveness was being laughed at by 
 the rabble about the wharf where I landed," [no doubt 
 from the weekly market sloop], "for walking in the 
 middle of the street. Previous to this, my first Avatar, 
 one of my sisters had married Mr. William Irving, 
 eldest brother to Washington Irving, who was after- 
 wards a representative in Congress from New York, 
 a man of great wit, genius, and originality. This had 
 produced a boyish acquaintance between Washington 
 and myself, which was renewed on my arrival in 
 New York, and ripened into a solid friendship which 
 has continued to this day. 
 
 " Thus I feU, as it were, among the Philistines ; for 
 the circle in which I moved — though I can scarcely 
 say had a being — was composed of young men, many 
 
 [29] 
 
80 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 of whom have since made no inconsiderable figure in 
 the world, I was excessively thin-skinned — I may 
 say, perfectly raw — and nothing was so painful to me 
 as ridicule. They broke me in by quizzing me most 
 unmercifully ; but, though the perspiration of almost 
 agony sprung from the very hair of my head, I bore 
 it like a martyr, for I was too proud to show how I 
 suffered. By this course I was drilled into something 
 like a citizen of the new world into which I had been 
 thrown. It was a rough discipline' to a lad of my 
 temperament, but proved of great service in after-life ; 
 and, though I look back on it with something like hor- 
 ror, I have always considered the lessons worth the 
 purchase. It was the best school in which I ever 
 studied." 
 
 The name of James Paulding appears in the New- 
 York City Directory for 1797, as resident at number 43 
 Vesey Street, being the same house in which lived his 
 brother William Paulding, Jr. I think it probable that 
 this was the year in which he went to town, and that 
 the situation to which he refers was in the United- 
 States Loan Office. At any rate it is certain that at 
 one period he held a clerkship there. He was now 
 nineteen, and, as I suppose, scribbled in Commonplace 
 books, but made no confidants, undergoing as best 
 he could the case-hardening process above alluded 
 to. The first specific and complete effort I have en- 
 countered is dated 1799, although it was not pub- 
 lished till more than half a century afterward, when 
 he was contributing some articles to " The United- 
 States Review," in which periodical it appeared, in 
 September, 1853. As usual, the poetic faculty was 
 the first developed ; and the verses convey, as I ima- 
 
FIRST POETIC EFFORT. 31 
 
 gine, the author's first impressions of the scenery 
 whose title surmounts them : — 
 
 DAWN IN THE HIGHLANDS OF THE HUDSON. 
 
 The opening eyelids of tlie waking morn 
 Now o'er the drowsy world begin to wink, 
 
 While the bright lustres that the skies adorn, 
 Before the coming glory, pale and shrink. 
 
 High in the East, yon shadowy fleece of clouds. 
 
 Edged with a rosy tint, begins to glow, 
 While darkling mist the humbler landscape shrouds. 
 
 Veiling the beauties of the world below ; 
 
 Save where yon wood-crowned peak is seen to rise, 
 
 Like giant towering in majestic height, 
 Lifting its gilded head amid the skies. 
 
 Beyond the rolling scud's fantastic flight. 
 
 No songster carols from his lonely bower ; 
 
 No insect chirps along the meadow green ; 
 No sound of life disturbs the quiet hour. 
 
 And silence reigns o'er all the Sabbath scene ; 
 
 Save, ever and anon, some wakeful bird 
 Twitters a welcome to the blue-eyed dawn ; 
 
 Or some full-uddered cow afar is heard. 
 Calling the lagging milkmaid to the lawn. 
 
 But see ! the sun through yon deep cleft appears, 
 
 Careering masterful into the sky ! 
 His presence all the world of nature cheers, 
 
 And wakes the woodland's mingled melody. 
 
 At once the air is vocal with the strain 
 
 That quavers through the valleys far and wide. 
 
 Along the bubbling brooks, the jewelled plain, 
 Deep in the glen, and up the mountain side. 
 
32 LITERAEY LIFE OP J. K. PAXJLDING. 
 
 A swarm of bustUng insects speed away 
 On pleasant tour of merry morning flight, 
 
 And sport and glitter in the sunny ray, 
 Or revel 'mid the flowers in fuU delight. 
 
 The ever-busy bee is on the wing, 
 Eager to quaff his cup of honeyed dew 
 
 Where roses wild in red luxuriance spring. 
 And oft his luscious morning draught renew. 
 
 The envious mists, whose unsubstantial veil 
 Drooped o'er the face of nature, upward fly. 
 
 Athwart the mountain's brow like spectres quail, 
 And give the laughing landscape to the eye. 
 
 Slowly its beauties open to my view ; 
 
 One at a time its blushing charms unfold ; 
 And nature, to her sex's maxim true. 
 
 With sweet delay permits me to behold. 
 
 Like some capricious beauty, she awhile 
 Hides the full magic of her winning face. 
 
 The pouting ruby lip, the dimpled smile. 
 And all her youthful, soft, bewitching, grace. 
 
 Till, as by chance, the veil is blown aside. 
 And lo ! the glowing cheek, the sparkling eye. 
 
 The snowy neck, by happy chance are spied. 
 Blended in one deUcious harmony. 
 
 Thus nature coquets with the lord of day ; 
 
 Now shrouds her face in mist, and now appears 
 Enwrapped in gloom, or pranked in colors gay ; 
 
 Now glowing joyously, and now all tears. 
 
 The goddess still her loveliness renews 
 In twilight gravity or morning play. 
 
 Or, 'mid the silent stars and noiseless dews. 
 When night's pale regent holds her lonely sway. 
 
LETTER TO IRVING. B3 
 
 Whether in balmy Spring, bedecked with flowers, 
 And bright with smiles, she shows her ruddy face, 
 
 Or panting in her sultry Summer bowers, 
 Or clothed in Autumn's many-colored grace. 
 
 Or e'en when rigorous Winter rides the air. 
 His snowy beard wild streaming to the wind. 
 
 Now wrapt in clouds, and now with angry glare 
 Chiding the storm for lingering behind ; 
 
 Still there is something in her glorious plan 
 That wakes our noblest thoughts, and lifts the soul 
 
 To Him who gave the wondrous work to man, 
 And with it feeling to enjoy the whole. 
 
 Peter Irving, an elder brother of Washington, was 
 editor of a newspaper, " The Morning Chronicle," in 
 New York, from 1802 to 1805. To its columns it is 
 well known that Washington contributed, and there 
 also his friend first saw himself in print. 
 
 In May, 1804, Irving left the country for a tour in 
 Europe on account of his health, and shortly after his 
 departure began a correspondence between the two, 
 which runs over more than fifty years. The opening 
 letter, from Paulding, is a little curious, as indicating 
 that they had already gathered a set of intimates and 
 provided them with nicknames, for the bestowal of 
 which Irving had throughout his life a special fancy 
 and a happy knack. It is dated New York, 28th 
 June, 1804. I introduce a couple of extracts. 
 
 TO "W. IRVING. 
 
 Take notice ray lad, you are to expect no news from me ; 
 all my letters shall be devoted to higher objects, sublime 
 epeculations, and other matters of moonshine. In return I 
 expect from you a history, ancient and modern, of every 
 
 3 
 
34 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 place or object that strikes your senses — a narrative of your 
 feelings on occasions when the scene of some heroic action 
 bursts upon you, and recalls the idea of the chivalric virtue 
 of departed chiefs. I wish to Heaven I was with you — 
 Sblood ! What battles we would fight o'er and o'er again ! 
 Battles that should make pale the blushing honours of the 
 bridge of Bronx, and wither yellow with envy the laurels 
 won on tliat memorable day. You cannot have forgotten 
 how the Hessians were mauled on that occasion, and how 
 " Victory like a towering eagle sat perched upon my beaver," 
 on the Bridge, and how Majors Sturgeon and Molasses gained 
 immortal honour. 
 
 You will hear by this same conveyance of the welfare of 
 all your friends — of them I shall therefore say nothing. But 
 for my "single self" I tender the best good wishes of my 
 heart for your health and happiness. I have been called 
 cold-hearted, and indifferent to the welfare of others, because 
 my manners are perhaps so. But it was injustice, and among 
 the many wishes you may receive be assured there will be 
 none more sincere or more earnest than mine. 
 
 Yours affectionately, J. K. Paulding. 
 
 I presume the embryo author employed himself 
 about these years, in writing for the newspapers, and 
 jotting down memoranda like the following : — 
 
 " It was not a light that dazzled, but a pure, distin- 
 guishing, and placid light which called forth every 
 object to view in its most perfect form. The isle 
 spread large before him like a sweet vision of imagi- 
 nation, where distance fades not on the sight, where 
 nearness fatigues not the eye. It had its gently- 
 sweUing hills of tranquil green, nor was the sky un- 
 varied by clouds. But the clouds were bright and 
 gloriously transparent, involving each in its bosom 
 
THE SALMAGUNDI SET. 35 
 
 the nourishment of some murmuring stream, whose 
 wandering down the steep was like the faint echoes 
 of the harp of the winds when swept by zephyrs of 
 Spring. The valleys were open, and free to the ocean ; 
 trees, loaded with leaves which scarcely waved to the 
 night breeze, were scattered on the green declivities 
 and rising grounds. The rude winds walked not on the 
 mountain ; no storm took its course through the sky. 
 All was calm, and serene, and bright; the pure sun 
 of Autumn shone from his clear blue sky on the 
 happy fields, not hastening to the West for repose, 
 but for ever seated immovable on his throne of gold 
 in the highest heaven." 
 
 In the Directory for the year 1806, James K. Pauld- 
 ing is set down as living at No. 287 Greenwich Street, 
 the residence of his brother-in-law, "WiUiam Irving, Jr. 
 Washington Irving returned home with renovated 
 health in the Spring of this year, and the two were 
 naturally much thrown together. William Irving is 
 described on aU hands as a superior man. Gouver- 
 neur Kemble, the sole survivor of this circle, speaks of 
 him as full of apt illustration, and humor, and con- 
 ceives that both his brother Washington, and his 
 brother-in-law James, owed no little of their literary 
 success in after-life to his original impulse of sym- 
 pathy and advice. 
 
 There was a special knot of good fellows that in- 
 cluded Washington Irving and Paulding, to whom 
 the latter aUudes in letters of later years to Henry 
 Brevoort, Jr., himself one of the set, as the " ancient 
 and honorable order," and " the ancient club of New 
 York." Pretty much aU of them, and many other of 
 
86 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 their acquaintance, were furnished with aliases. Bre- 
 voort answered to " Nuncle " ; Paulding was dubbed 
 "Billy Taylor"; Kemble, "the Patroon"; William 
 Irving " the membrane " ; Ebenezer Irving took rank 
 as " Captain Great-heart ". Only Washington Irving 
 has no secondary title ; whence I conclude that he had 
 labelled the rest. 
 
 Other nicknames occur in the subsequent corre- 
 spondence of Paulding with Brevoort, such as " the 
 old man ", and " Sindbad " ; the latter believed to be 
 David Porter, of " Essex " renown. " The Super- 
 cargo " was Henry, or, as he generally figures, Harry 
 Ogden, who was evidently a great favorite among 
 them; apparently one of those cheerful and light- 
 hearted men whose temperament seems to have been 
 given them by Providence especially to enable them 
 to bear (as we often see in the compensations of 
 this life) the ill luck which for ever pursues them. 
 Perhaps all the more for this he was in favor with " us 
 jolly but poor rogues." 
 
 Nor did others, not of the clan, escape this process 
 of transmutation. Thus Longworth, the publisher, 
 became " the Dusky " ; and Captain Philipse, a much 
 older man than any of them, " the Chieftain ", it is 
 to be presumed in deference to his ownership of large 
 tracts of land in the Highlands of the Hudson, the 
 relics of a patent which once covered the entire Coun- 
 ty of Putnam. 
 
 Well, it was a gay company just fifty years ago ; 
 and the whole state of things is worth dwelling upon 
 a little, as being so far removed in spirit from the 
 present day and existing habits of thought. It would 
 seem as if ages, and not a single life-time only, divided 
 
THE SALMAGUNDI SET. 87 
 
 US from it. Here were a parcel of young men whom 
 Uncle Mammon would undoubtedly now pronounce 
 a pack of ne'er-do-weels, most of whom nevertheless 
 turned out somewhat notable in life, and some loomed 
 largely in the public view for many years. 
 
 Shreds of odd stories have floated down even to the 
 present day — how Henry Brevoort's hat, taken by 
 mistake after a dinner party, was recognized on the 
 head of an individual found in the gutter in front of 
 Trinity Church, whom the Dogberrys of the day, or 
 rather night, bore carefully home to that gentleman's 
 lodgings, and insisted upon the body's being his own ; 
 how Billy M. was once carried in procession by his 
 still capable friends to his bed, and, with Mozart's re- 
 quiem chanted over him, was buried under all the 
 furniture of his room; how — but what skiUs it to 
 repeat these things now ? " Alack and alack ! ", of all 
 those merry blades but one survives. That one is 
 Gouverneur Kemble, " the patroon", probably so styled 
 by way of joke in those days of great landed prop- 
 erties because he owned an old house and a few acres 
 near Newark, New Jersey — the Cockloft Hall of 
 SalmagundL 
 
 There is another noticeable thing. Of this society, 
 four in particular, namely Washington Irving, Henry 
 Brevoort Jr., Gouverneur Kemble, and James K. 
 Paulding, became more closely bound in an Tuiusual 
 friendship. The relations which united this little 
 group were of the most intimate. A confidence even 
 beyond that of brothers existed among them ; a con- 
 fidence which, it is believed, was never violated under 
 any circumstances, on any hand. And there is no 
 trace of any quarrel to the end of their days. 
 
38 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 We have now arrived at a period important in the 
 history of the two literary members of this fraternity. 
 Both had before this dabbled in newspaper work ; but 
 the publication of the first number of Salmagundi, 
 January 24, 1807, (Mr. Paulding being then in his 
 twenty-ninth year and his associate about five years 
 younger), may be considered as the starting point in 
 the literary career of both ; for, though the former can 
 scarcely be said to have pursued literature as the am- 
 bition of his life, the success of this venture, doubt- 
 less, fixed him in the natural turn he had for pursuits 
 of that nature. 
 
 Salmagundi arose, no one knows exactly how, be- 
 tween the two. It was more probably an inspiration 
 than a plan, and was worked out in a hap-hazard way 
 consonant with its original conception. Mr. Paulding 
 says : — 
 
 " It was when fairly initiated into the mysteries of 
 the town that Washington Irving and myself com- 
 menced the publication of Salmagundi, an irregular 
 issue, the object of which was to ridicule the follies 
 and foibles of the fashionable world. Though we 
 had not anticipated any thing beyond a local circula- 
 tion, the work soon took a wider sphere ; gradually 
 extended throughout the United States ; and acquired 
 great popularity. It was, I believe, the first of its 
 kind in this country ; produced numerous similar pub- 
 lications, none of which, however, extended beyond a 
 few numbers, and formed somewhat of an era in our 
 Literature. It reached two volumes, and we could 
 easily have continued it indefinitely. But the pub- 
 lisher, with that liberality so characteristic of these 
 modern Maecenases, declined to concede to us a share 
 
SALMAGUNDI. 39 
 
 of the profits which had become very considerable, 
 and the work was abruptly discontinued. It was one 
 of those productions of youth that wise men — or 
 those who think themselves wise — are very apt to be 
 ashamed of when they grow old." 
 
 It appears that the authors received one hundred 
 dollars a-piece from Longworth, as their share of the 
 proceeds. This joint work has been republished at 
 sundry times, in connexion with Mr. Irving's works 
 or those of Mr. Paulding; and, since the death of 
 both parties, as a pendant to the " National Edition " 
 of the former's writings. 
 
 The allies never chose to separate their interest 
 in the articles. Their judgment as to the merits of the 
 production varied somewhat. In 1820 Mr. Irving was 
 much out of conceit with it. In February, 1822, the 
 original copyright having expired, Mr. Paulding pro- 
 posed to his friend (through his brother Ebenezer), 
 that they should revise the work and republish it for 
 their joint benefit ; observing that it still had a good 
 sale, and adducing as an additional reason for the 
 course suggested, that the publisher had " taken the 
 liberty to add some of his own nonsense occasionally " ; 
 and that " it would therefore be desirable even on that 
 account to get the work out of Ms diabolical clutches 
 if possible." He adds that he "was debauching it 
 with blunders, and vile pictures, &c., that were a 
 disgrace to any decent publication." I find no an- 
 swer to this proposition at that time ; but two years 
 later, as I gather from a letter of Paulding to his 
 coadjutor, the latter had brought up the subject. Mr. 
 Paulding writes, under date of March 20, 1824 : " I ap- 
 prove your plan of a new edition of Salmagundi, and 
 
40 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 will set about my part as soon as the spirit moves me. 
 I anticipate much barrenness in my attempts, having 
 almost exhausted myself in this line. I don't hold 
 this early bantling of ours in such utter contempt as 
 you do, and can't help viewing it in the light of a 
 careless popular thing that wiU always be read in spite 
 of its faults, perhaps in consequence of these very 
 faults." 
 
 This project also fell through, for some reason un- 
 known. In 1834, when Mr. Paulding had made an 
 arrangement with Harper & Brothers for the publi- 
 cation of a uniform edition of his works, he applied 
 to Mr. Irving who was then a near neighbor, (one 
 living in Whitehall St. and the other just round the 
 corner in Bridge St.), in the following language: 
 " I know you consider Old Sal as a sort of saucy 
 flippant troUope, belonging to nobody, and not worth 
 fathering, and therefore venture to ask if you have 
 any objection to have her again presented to the pub- 
 lic in connexion with the continuation, and for our 
 joint benefit. It can be reprinted from the Paris 
 edition which I have, and without any further sanc- 
 tion of the authors than that indicates." He adds, at 
 the close of the letter : " I preferred writing to talking 
 to you, because I am much more accustomed to one 
 than the other, and can explain myself better." 
 
 This letter was dated Feb. 28th. Mr. Irving re- 
 joins the next day, according permission, but remark- 
 ing that he never allowed Murray to republish it ; that 
 Galignani had done so without his authority ; and, on 
 the whole, depreciating the work somewhat in the 
 spirit of a respectable elderly gentleman when called 
 upon to harvest the wild oats of his youth. I do not 
 
SALMAGUNDI. 41 
 
 find any hint to this effect in Mr. Paulding's letter, 
 but Mr. Irving seems to have taken up the impression 
 that additions or alterations were proposed ; and, after 
 speaking of its. demerits, continues : " These, however, 
 are excusable in a juvenile production : as such, there- 
 fore, I wish it to be considered, and for that reason 
 am disinclined to any additions or modifications that 
 may appear to give it the sanction of our present 
 taste, judgment, and opinions," 
 So ends that story. 
 
III. 
 
 1808-1813. [^T.30-35.] 
 
 HABITS OF AUTHORSHIP — THE SUJlMER MORN THE DIVERTING HISTORY 
 
 OF JOHN BULL AND BROTHER JONATHAN THE LAY OF THE SCOTTISH 
 
 FIDDLE — REVIEW BY WASHINGTON IRVING — SKETCH OF, AND EX- 
 TRACTS FROM, THE LAY. 
 
 Our author now went " plodding on," as he ex- 
 presses it, for some years, probably conti'ibuting to 
 the newspapers, but not coming self-assertively before 
 the public. Indeed it was a peculiarity of his that he 
 never seemed to care much whether his work pro- 
 duced him reputation or emolument. He writes, late 
 in life : — "I never put my name to any production, 
 except it was made a condition by the publisher;" 
 and the late George P. Morris told me, that when 
 conducting the New- York Mirror, some twenty years 
 after the period we are now considering, my father 
 would continually come into his office, produce a 
 paper from his pocket, poke it at him, and march out 
 without a single word. He sums up his ambitions for 
 himself in one of the papers in the Second Series of 
 Salmagundi. " For my part, I solemnly assure my 
 readers, that I would willingly forego all the praises I 
 expect to receive, (from posterity at least), if I could 
 only enjoy the delights of living among the present 
 generation, and laughing a little at their foibles, with- 
 out being known by a single soul." 
 [42] 
 
PRACTICE. 43 
 
 He wrote, apparently, because he must needs get 
 rid of what he had in his head, or because he found 
 the use of his pen the readiest way of killing time. 
 In this anonymous way some of his most delicious 
 little bits were published. I find in an early Common- 
 place book a printed fragment cut out of a newspaper 
 of about the year 1810, (as I suppose), which, I have 
 no doubt, is of his composition. 
 
 THE SUMMER MORN. 
 
 Twilight lingers dim and deep, 
 Hushing earth in dewy sleep ; 
 Till along the amber sky 
 Morning's fiery arrows fly, 
 And in a slow-surging fold 
 From the land the mist is rolled. 
 Nature's gorgeous theatre ; 
 Sliowing splendors far and near, 
 Solemn wood, and sheltered bay. 
 Where some weary bark, that lay 
 All night neighbored by the bank. 
 Through the willows clustering dank 
 Shines along with hollow sail, 
 Shifting to the morning gale. 
 Village sounds are waking now : 
 Birds are singing on the bough ; 
 Through the hoary umbraged oak 
 Slowly curls the cottage smoke ; 
 To the forest far and gray 
 Chants the woodman on his way. 
 Now the fisher through the pool 
 Woodbine-shaded, clear and cool, 
 Where, by moss and tufted weed 
 Loves the speckled trout to feed. 
 Wades with cautious step and eye, 
 Flinging oft the gilded fly ; 
 Yet, with deep-delighted ear. 
 Pausing in his sport, to hear 
 
44 LITEEAET LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Where the milkmaid's merry song 
 Rings the primrose path along, 
 Some sweet measure of the time 
 When the heart was in the rhyme ; 
 Or, along the distant hill, 
 Softened comes the whistle shrill. 
 Telling where, beside his team, 
 (That, ascending in the beam, 
 Like a fiery troop appear). 
 Toils the early wagoner ! 
 Sights like these let sluggards scorn — 
 Joy is in the Summer Mom. 
 
 This recalls some of the eldest English poets. In- 
 deed, it is remarkable how often this early laborer in 
 the field of American, suggests the corresponding 
 phase of English, literature. The introduction of sing- 
 ing milkmaids and woodmen is not so conventional 
 as might seem at first. My father alludes in various 
 places to this matter, specifying the songs sung. An 
 example comes to hand in the same book from which 
 this little poem is taken, and is in the shape of a 
 memorandum; thus: — 
 
 " Highlands. 
 Rustic procession to the hay-field — Jacobs, Connor, 
 
 Eben, Cyrus, &c., marching in a row, with forks 
 
 rakes, &c., on their shoulders, singing the Quaker 
 
 Lady." 
 
 At other times on the contrary he notices and re- 
 grets the decay, or the lack, of the singing impulse 
 among our people. For the primrose path and the 
 fly-fisher I cannot so well account. All his sport in 
 angling heretofore must, I think, have been in rough 
 mountain streams, unless mayhap the Sawmill River 
 had furnished him game in his boyhood; and at that 
 
POLITICAL SATIRES. 45 
 
 time he was not so sophisticated as to know any- 
 thing about such delicate appliances. Probably Izaak 
 Walton is responsible for this, as for many another 
 fancy allusion to the piscatorial art. 
 
 About this period, or perhaps a year or two earlier, 
 the set began to frequent " the Grange," a residence 
 just built by Captain Philipse, " the chieftain," on his 
 estate in Putnam County. This house was opposite 
 West Point, at the turn of the river, commanding 
 from its two fronts the whole extent of the Highlands 
 from Anthony's Nose to Pollepells Island. It was 
 burnt in 1860. 
 
 In this pleasant retreat Mr. Paulding's next letter to 
 Irving found him, a few months, after the opening of 
 the wsir of 1812. The former had just published THE 
 DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN BULL AND BROTHER 
 JONATHAN, a political satire, which will form a portion 
 of one volume of the re-publication to which this Life 
 is intended to serve as a species of herald. AH later 
 critics have acknowledged the homely force of the 
 style of this work, and the pertinent vigor of its plan 
 and execution; but it must have hung fire at first. 
 Mr. Paulding writes: 
 
 New York. 5th Sept. 1812. 
 Dear Washington, I send you a copy of John Bull, 
 who has made some talk here, but I believe don't sell very 
 well ; for what reason I leave you to judge — it being such 
 an excellent work. 
 
 It has been several times reprinted. 
 
 In 1813 our author published a little squib, styled 
 "THE LAY OF THE SCOTTISH FIDDLE: a Tale of 
 Havre de Grace. Supposed to be written by Walter 
 Scott, Esq. First American, from the fourth Edin- 
 
46 LITEBABY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 burgh edition." The volume was diminutive; the 
 publishers were Inskeep and Bradford, New York, 
 and Bradford and Inskeep, Philadelphia. 
 
 A brief review in the Analectic Magazine of 
 September, 1813, by Washington Irving, then editor, 
 sufficiently expresses the scope of the book. " A httle 
 work, ' supposed to be written by Walter Scott, Esq.' 
 with the above title, has just issued from the press, 
 under the fashionable modern form of a poem with 
 notes : the late period at which it was put into our 
 hands prevents us from entering into a particular 
 account of it. The writer appears to have more than 
 one object in view. At first, his intention seems to 
 be merely to satirize and parody the writings of" Wal- 
 ter Scott, which have lately had such an aU-pervading 
 circulation in the fashionable world ; but in the course 
 of his work, he seems disposed to extend his lash to 
 the follies and errors of his countrymen ; to advocate 
 the present war ; and to retaliate in a good-humoured 
 way on the British invaders in the Chesapeake, for 
 their excesses at Havre de Grace. But though ridi- 
 cule and merriment appear to be the leading features, 
 the work is occasionally diversified by little passages 
 of pathos and feeling; the descriptions of American 
 scenery, and American manners, are touched off with 
 much truth of pencil and felicity of manner, and there 
 are several veins of thought that would do credit to 
 a work of a more elevated and sober character. 
 
 " There are, however, some traces of political satire 
 discernible in this volume, which, though managed 
 with great good nature, we regret that the revising 
 hand of the author had not expunged; as they are 
 calculated to awaken angry feelings in some bosoms, 
 
LAY OF SCOTTISH PIDDLE. 47 
 
 and to injure the interests of a work, which would 
 otherwise be read with pleasure and approbation 
 throughout the Union." 
 
 The volume consists of a Preface, an " Introduc- 
 tion " and five Cantos, and Notes, in which last there 
 is a good deal of pleasantry. This system of pad- 
 ding out a book appears to have especially aroused 
 our author's caustic humor. In a review by him of 
 " The Emerald Isle, a poem by Charles PhiUips, Esq.," 
 to be found in The Analectic Magazine for July, 1813, 
 he thus writes : — " Indeed there is at least four times 
 the solid quantityof notes that there is of poetry ; and 
 the complexion of this mighty mass resembles not a 
 little that multifarious variety of broken chairs, an- 
 cient bureaus, worn-out tables, and other precious 
 remains of antiquity, which every good housewife 
 thinks it necessary to scour up, and carry along with 
 her in her periodical migrations." 
 
 Returning to " The Lay", I should observe that the 
 copy in my possession is much interlined with the au- 
 thor's corrections, and in some parts entirely re-written. 
 The course of the story is this. A blind fiddler led 
 by his dog, finds his way from New York to Prince- 
 ton, where he brings up at " Lord " Joline's tavern. 
 Here he is induced to sing his lay, and — (with the 
 episode of a grand row of students from Nassau Hall, 
 and others) — works through it, and is dismissed in a 
 condition which seems to assure a comfortable close 
 to his days. From the Inteoduction I extract a deli- 
 cate bit of burlesque : — 
 
 Now crossed they noble Hudson's tide, 
 In steamboat, young Columbia's pride. 
 And meet it is the poet say 
 They paid no ferriage by the way. 
 
48 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Through Jersey city straight they wend 
 And Bergen hill-tops slow ascend, 
 Whence he who is possessed of eyes 
 A gallant prospect often spies. 
 Far off the noiseless ocean rolled, 
 A pure expanse of burnished gold. 
 And nearer spread a various view 
 Of objects beautiful and new ; 
 Fair Hackinsack, Passaic smooth, 
 Whose gentle murmurs sweetly soothe ; 
 And Newark bay, and Arthur's sound ; 
 And many an island spread around, 
 Like fat green turtles fast asleep 
 On the still surface of the deep. 
 
 And Gotham might you see, whose spires 
 Shone in the sun, like meteor fires. 
 The vessels lay all side by side. 
 And spread a leafless forest wide ; 
 And now and then the Yo heave O 
 Borne on the breeze, all sad and slow, 
 Seemed Uke the requiem of trade, 
 Low in its grave for ever laid. 
 
 Canto I. introduces The Three Knights, Sir Bo- 
 lus — (Admiral Sir John Borlase Warren) — Sir Be- 
 resford — (Sir John Beresford) — and ChUde Cock- 
 burn — (Rear-admiral Cockburn) — pondering their 
 mission of waste and plunder. The bulk of the ex- 
 pedition is thus made fun of: — 
 
 Bold sailors, bottle-loving race. 
 
 Stretched half-asleep at random lay. 
 
 Or urged in dreams the gallant chase 
 
 Of oyster boats far up the bay. 
 
 Full seven hundred of these tars 
 
 Would doff their hats when Sir Knight came by, 
 
 All famed afar in naval wars 
 
 And feats of Border Chivalry. 
 
 Six lieutenants stout and bold. 
 
 Twelve midshipmen, as I am told. 
 
LAY OP SCOTTISH PIDDLE. 49 
 
 Jolly lads of metal true, 
 
 Officered this stalwart crew. 
 
 All of these were clad in blue, 
 
 And to their broad-swords stuck like glue ; 
 
 They quitted not their steel so bright. 
 
 Neither by day, nor yet by night : 
 
 They lay down to rest 
 
 With doublet all braced, 
 Pillowed on plank so rough and hard ; 
 
 They carved at the meal 
 
 With sword of true steel. 
 And they drank their small beer out of buckets all tarred. 
 
 Canto II. describes The Council. Near the open- 
 ing of this occurred eight lines, for which the follow- 
 ing were substituted in manuscript : — 
 
 Opens the morn her dewy eyes 
 
 To see if it is time to rise ; 
 
 Slow o'er the surface of the deep 
 
 The lazy fog begins to sweep ; 
 
 Part of the distant shore, deep green, 
 
 Shows here and there, a lovely scene, 
 
 And part is hid in mystic cloud 
 
 Enwrapping it like ghostly shroud. 
 
 Anon, along the mountain side. 
 
 Like spectres pale, great masses glide. 
 
 Coasting the steep and wood-crowned height, 
 
 And hiding all from human sight. 
 
 Save one bare peak, aspiring bold. 
 
 Like giant capped with helm of gold. 
 
 As the light vapor upward flies 
 To seek its kindred of the skies. 
 New objects greet the wondering view, 
 Of various form and varied hue. 
 A jutting point, a circling cove, 
 Whose sandy beach the fishers love ; 
 A glen retreating from the shore, 
 Down which the rushing waters pour ; 
 4 
 
50 LITEEAET LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 A whitewashed cottage, bowered in trees 
 Scarce moving in the morning breeze ; 
 Each in its turn, a fair array, 
 Stand cheerful in the eye of day. 
 Till, at the last, a beauteous whole 
 Combines to win the ravished soul. 
 So, on the morning of her birth, 
 From Chaos rose the smiling earth. 
 And, from the gloom of vapory night. 
 Rushed into order, beauty, light. 
 
 However delicious this, I fancy it rather a study 
 from the Hudson than from Chesapeake Bay. But 
 this by the way. The accident through which the 
 contemplated foray takes the specific direction of 
 Havre de Grace is amusingly told : — 
 
 He ceased, then cast his hopeless eye 
 
 On a huge map just lying by. 
 
 And straight that eye, with living fire 
 
 Was lighted up, in bitter ire ; 
 
 In tones that quelled the ocean wave 
 
 Thus our good knight began to rave : 
 
 " The recreant wight, who dares to say. 
 
 In the bright face of this good day, 
 
 French influence stains not this fair land. 
 
 Lies in his teeth, by this right hand. 
 
 A living proof behold we here 
 
 In black and white distinct appear ; 
 
 Behold, Sir Knights, a vile French place 
 
 Called Havre — with a d d de Grace ! 
 
 Canto IH. is entitled The Progress. The follow- 
 ing description and reflections, quoted in the review 
 previously alluded to, are very much altered and im- 
 proved in my father's copy of the book. I give the 
 later version. — 
 
THE SCOTTISH FIDDLE. 51 
 
 And now they caught the brightening gleam 
 Of Susquehanna's noble stream, 
 As rolling down it came to pay 
 Its tribute to the lordly bay, 
 And on its beauteous margin spied 
 The little town in rural pride 
 Wrapt round in safety's folding arms, 
 Nor dreaming of those tristful harms 
 Which fortune in her fitful spite 
 Decreed should come, that fatal night. 
 
 The sun low in the West did wane ; 
 Athwart the level of the plain 
 The shadow of each tree the while 
 Seemed lengthened into many a mile ; 
 The purple hue of evening fell 
 Upon the deep, sequestered, dell ; 
 And scarce a lingering sunbeam played 
 Around the distant mountain's head. 
 
 When, lo ! what growing, grand, surprise. 
 Rich in the ruddy Western skies ! 
 What splendid tints of red and gold 
 At that calm hour the clouds unfold ! 
 Some in the pure translucent breast 
 Of the whole sea of heavens rest, 
 Like fairy islets scattered wide 
 Afar and near in fabled tide 
 Where as wild Eastern fancy feigns 
 Some potent Genius ever reigns ; 
 Others, like vessels gilded fair. 
 Drift slowly in the upper air, 
 Bedecked with flaunting streamers gay. 
 While powers unseen direct their way. 
 In more than royal pomp and pride 
 With gorgeous sail they graceful glide, 
 Gay as the barque whose glittering sheen 
 Sparkled around the Egyptian queen. 
 On whom as gazed the Roman fool 
 The subject world slipped from his rule. 
 
 Anon the golden lustre fades ; 
 A graver hue the sky invades ; 
 
52 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 The veil of twilight nature shrouds, 
 And dark and darker grow the clouds : 
 E'en as the deep and healthful flush 
 That gives the youthful cheek its blush, 
 In manhood fades, grows gray with age. 
 And dies long ere we quit this stage. 
 
 Then sunk the breeze into a calm ; 
 Gathered refreshing dews, like balm ; 
 The night-hawk, screaming through the sky. 
 Told that the evening shades were nigh ; 
 The bat began his dusky flight ; 
 The whip-poor-will, our bird of night. 
 Ever unseen however near. 
 Quavered his quaint note in the ear ; 
 The blundering beetle forth did hie, 
 With drowsy drone and heedless eye ; 
 The little watchman of the night. 
 The firefly, trimmed his lantern bright, 
 And took his merry, airy, round. 
 Along the meadow's fragrant bound. 
 Where blossomed clover, bathed in dew. 
 In sweet luxuriance blushing grew. 
 O nature ! goddess ever dear. 
 What a fair scene of peace was here ! 
 What pleasant sports, what calm delights, 
 What happy days, what blameless nights, 
 Might in such tranquil haunts be spent, 
 Lulled in the lap of bland content ! 
 But vain it is that gracious Heaven 
 To wilful man this earth has given ; 
 Vain, that its witching face displays 
 Such beauties to his reckless gaze. 
 While this same rash unreasoning worm 
 Raises the whirlwind and the storm. 
 Pollutes her bosom with hot blood. 
 Turns to rank poison all her good, 
 And plays before his Maker's eyes 
 The serpent of this paradise. 
 
 Who that had gazed on scene so fair 
 Had deemed this world a world of care. 
 
THE SCOTTISH FIDDLE. 53 
 
 Whore evil thoughts for ever seek 
 To lure to ill our nature weak ; 
 Where all around temptation lies, 
 And good beyond us, in the skies ? 
 No man with angel wrestles here, 
 Like him whom Israel's tribes revere ; 
 But trains of imps in angel guise 
 For aye assault the wariest wise ; 
 One foiled, another still succeeds ; 
 Triumph to harder trial leads ; 
 Till, tired at last, we quit the field, 
 Or to the weakest tempter yield 
 The trophies of a life-long war. 
 Rather than fight one battle more. 
 
 I presume that when these alterations were made 
 Mr. Paulding had in view another edition of the book, 
 but as that, so far as I know, was never called for, 
 he inserted the most of the preceding lines in " The 
 Backwoodsman." It is curious to note how they 
 have become weakened in the expansion of the eight- 
 syllabled into the ten-syllabled line ; offering a valua- 
 ble illustration of the feebleness of mere "words, 
 words, words." 
 
 Burlesque now reigns again : — 
 
 The fiddle stopped ; and sudden rose 
 
 The music of the minstrel's nose. 
 
 Though hushed the song, the sonorous sound 
 
 Amazed the audience nodding round : 
 
 Now it seems far, and now a-near, 
 
 Now meets, and now eludes, the ear ; 
 
 Now seems like conch-shell echoing wide 
 
 Along some misty mountain side ; 
 
 Now like the low and solemn knell 
 
 Of village church, in distant dell ; 
 
 Now the sad requiem loads the gale, 
 
 And seems like tithe-pig's smothered wail, 
 
 As pent in bag, to pay the tolls 
 
 Of parish priest — for saving souls. 
 
54 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 I am tempted to introduce here, from another of 
 our author's works, a companion snore, — perhaps the 
 greatest on record. I am confident it was born in a 
 North River steamboat. 
 
 " Sometimes it rolled up in a lofty diapason, and 
 then suddenly sunk into thorough bass ; sometimes it 
 seemed whistling through a quill, and anon it burst 
 forth with such stupendous and transcendent exuber- 
 ance, as to threaten the total disruption of the in- 
 strument itself. Its variety was inexhaustible; its 
 transitions, sometimes gentle and insinuating, at 
 others abrupt and ferocious ; and occasionally it sent 
 forth a long, lingering, Alexandrine note, that gradu- 
 ally dwindled away like a distant expiring echo." 
 
 Just at the close of the minstrel's nap the students 
 enter the tavern, and, being joined by a party of 
 country folk, a dance is gotten up. This brings us 
 to — 
 
 Canto IV., or The Digression. A portion of this the 
 reviewer before mentioned quotes, with the remark : 
 " The following picture is admirably descriptive of a 
 country bumpkin in love ; the scenery is delightfully 
 managed." This episode is in fact the most compact 
 portion of the poem, and the merit of it less unequal 
 than the rest ; but as I have not space for the whole, 
 and am loth to break it, I content myself with a speci- 
 men of the notes. 
 
 NOTE X. 
 Soothed her pleased ear with Rhino Die. 
 It has been hitherto supposed that the people of America, 
 like the birds of that country, are not naturally musical, be- 
 cause travellers have, I am told, drawn their conclusions, from 
 what they observed in cities or along the public roads, without 
 
THE SCOTTISH FIDDLE. 55 
 
 penetrating beyond the mere outside shell of the country. 
 The genuine indigenous habits of any country are not to be 
 gathered in the streets or by the roadside ; but in lonely and 
 remote situations where the traveller never comes, and where, 
 with the exception of a wandering peddler, a stranger is sel- 
 dom seen. It is at the fireside of the farmer that the ancient 
 manners and customs, the natural tastes of a people, take their 
 stand ; and it is there and in his fields, that I am assured, 
 morning, noon, and evening, you may hear old ballads often 
 sung by the workmen and maids, with whom it is altogether 
 common and customary. With regard to the ballad of Ehino 
 Die, I have been able to procure but two lines of it, which 
 are the concluding ones of every verse, occupying the place 
 of a sort of chorus. There is a simplicity in them which 
 seems to indicate considerable antiquity. 
 
 " My name is Rhino Die, 
 All on the mountains high." 
 
 This ballad is probably of American origin, as neither Mr. 
 Eitson, Mr. Ellis, nor my friend Jacobus Porcus, has given 
 any account of it. All I can gather from my correspondent, 
 who, like most other Americans, is barbarously indifferent to 
 genuine minstrelsy, is, that it is twelve cows in length. That 
 is, according to the ancient system of measuring ballads ; 
 which was by the number of cows milked by the maid, while 
 she was singing them. Formerly the Hollanders measured 
 time by the pipe, as the learned Diedrich Knickerbocker 
 aflSirms in his history ; and at present the natives of the East, 
 have a custom, somewhat analogous, of measuring distances 
 by time. 
 
 Canto V., styled The Burning, contains a sketch 
 of the destruction of Havre de Grace by the enemy, 
 and sundry thrusts at domestic faction; gives the 
 later fortunes of "the minstrel;" and ends with a 
 farewell to the fiddle. 
 
IV. 
 
 1813-1814. [Mt 35-36.] 
 
 THE ANALECTIC MAGAZIHE — THE IDEA OF A TKUE PATEIOT. 
 
 I HAVE alluded to a review by Mr. Paulding in The 
 Analectic Magazine. To this periodical, early in 
 
 1813, he became a contributor, in connexion with 
 Washington Irving, editor, and Gulian C. Verplanck ; 
 and was more or less interested in its fortunes for 
 some years thereafter. I reproduce here an article 
 from his pen, to be found in the number for February, 
 
 1814, which is a good specimen of a sort of subdued 
 irony in which he delighted. 
 
 THE IDEA OF A TRUE PATEIOT. 
 
 Grave observers, who, by looking steadily at the 
 troubled ocean of life, sometimes see a little beyond 
 the surface, will be often struck with surprise at be- 
 holding the influence which mere names exercise over 
 the opinions of the majority of the human race. 
 They will indeed almost be inclined to believe that 
 the generality of men have no other criterion to dis- 
 tinguish virtue from vice, and that Brutus was in the 
 right when, in the bitterness of disappointment at 
 the failure of his attempt to free his country, he ex- 
 claimed, " O virtue ! thou art but a name." 
 
 Observing this propensity in mankind to be gov- 
 erned by names, wise men, I mean those enlightened 
 
 m 
 
THE IDEA OP A TRUE PATRIOT. 67 
 
 persons who had cunning enough to perceive the 
 foibles of their fellow creatures and knavery enough 
 to take advantage of them, did, at a very early period, 
 invent a nomenclature most admirably calculated to 
 break down the barrier between virtue and vice, and 
 to confound them in the minds of unenlightened men. 
 It was thus that persecution became piety ; ill nature, 
 candour; avarice, prudence; cunning, wisdom; and 
 self-interest, patriotism — till at last divers philoso- 
 phers, observing the singular operation of these dis- 
 guised vices, began to doubt the very existence of 
 virtue. 
 
 When, for instance, they saw a man who chose to 
 call himself a patriot, abandoning himself to dishon- 
 ourable intrigues, inventing and giving currency to 
 falsehood, and outraging all those duties which com- 
 pose the ligaments of society, — losing sight of those 
 honourable principles and feelings which constitute 
 the true dignity of man, and debasing himself to the 
 level of pitiful hypocrisy — when they saw all this, 
 they came to the preposterous conclusion that there 
 was no such thing as true patriotism. But the more 
 enlarged and enlightened philosophy of the present 
 day has furnished a remedy for these seeming incon- 
 gruities, and, by a most happy distinction, reconciled 
 private with public virtue, by demonstrating that they 
 are entirely distinct, nay, often diametrically opposite 
 to each other. 
 
 In no age or country, perhaps, has patriotism been 
 so plenty as in this. In the most virtuous periods of 
 Greece and Rome it is melancholy to observe the 
 dearth of patriots, lawgivers, and wise men. Seven 
 wise men living at one time in Greece, gave immor- 
 
58 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 tality to the age; Solon and Lycurgus, by making 
 laws for a couple of insignificant cities, were held up 
 as objects of infinite admiration ; and such was the 
 scarcity of patriots that they were obliged to enlist 
 Timoleon, who killed his brother, and the elder 
 Brutus, who kiUed his son, in order to eke out the 
 number. These instances clearly indicate the great 
 superiority of the moderns over those ancients who 
 are so insolently held up by most Avriters as objects of 
 imitation ; for there is hardly a village of this country 
 that does not contain a man at least as wise in his 
 neighbour's opinion as Thales ; and one single city, 
 as we read, called Gotham, actually produced at one 
 time three wise men equally renowned with those of 
 ancient Greece. As for legislators and patriots, every 
 board of aldermen can turn out half a dozen of the 
 one, and the others are as plenty and as cheap as 
 mackerel. 
 
 In proportion, however, as the sect of patriots grew 
 more numerous, it branched out into a variety of 
 schisms, insomuch that the purity of its original 
 source became polluted, and it is now extremely dif- 
 ficult to distinguish the genuine from the adulterated 
 patriotism, I wiU therefore lay down some rules by 
 which the true patriot may be recognised at first sight 
 by persons of ordinary sagacity. There are certain 
 characteristic and peculiar marks which enable an 
 accurate observer at all times to discern which is the 
 perfect, and which is the mixed or degenerate breed 
 of animals. As I profess to have this power in a high 
 degree, having handled many patriots in my time, the 
 following marks may be relied on by those who may 
 be inclined to the purchase of this species of live stock. 
 
THE IDEA OP A TRUE PATRIOT. 69 
 
 The true patriot is one who uniformly prefers his 
 own interest to that of his country, and who has en- 
 larged his mind to a perception of this great moral 
 truth, that public is almost always incompatible with 
 private virtue. These opinions are the foundation of 
 the quality I am about analyzing, and without it no 
 patriotism can be genuine, any more than Dr. Solo- 
 mon's Balm of Gilead can be relied on without the 
 doctor's own signature. Let us now inquire how the 
 combination of these two great qualities operates to 
 produce infinite benefit to the community at large. 
 
 This attachment of the true patriot to his own in- 
 dividual interest is founded on a most subtle construc- 
 tion, which is doubtless the true one, of the celebrated 
 political axiom, that "the good of the whole is the 
 same as the good of all its parts." This, rightly un- 
 derstood, inculcates the doctrine, that every man ought 
 exclusively to take care of himself, which is in fact 
 the great law of nature. Assuredly, if the good of 
 society consists in the prosperity of all its parts, the 
 true way to attain that good is for each individual to 
 cultivate his own interest at the expense of that of 
 everybody else. The greatest possible number of peo- 
 ple will then become prosperous, and thus the good 
 of the whole wiU be achieved in the easiest and most 
 effectual manner. 
 
 Nothing in fact so forcibly exemplifies the pre- 
 sumptuous foUy of mankind as their making a sacri- 
 fice of individual interest to the general benefit ; or 
 the arrogance of that patriotism which has for its 
 object the good of a whole community. Attempts 
 like these bespeak an utter ignorance of the limited 
 powers of man, who, so far from being able to make 
 
60 LITERAET LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 others happy, can scarcely, with all his exertions, at- 
 tain to a moderate degree of comfort himself. From 
 this salutary conviction of the circumscribed sphere 
 of mortal action, has doubtless arisen that indifference 
 to the prosperity of others manifested by many good 
 men and true patriots, who, wisely perceiving it was 
 as much as they could do to make themselves tolera- 
 ably easy in this world, very properly abandoned all 
 solicitude for the welfare of others. 
 
 But, however this opinion may be reconcilable to 
 the feelings of the wise, it would be manifest folly in 
 the true patriot to admit for a moment in public that 
 it influences his conduct. That kind of honour which 
 is proverbial among thieves, and which I suppose 
 consists in throwing off aU disguise among themselves, 
 may possibly prompt him to unfold to his fraternity 
 the noble principle by which he is actuated, but it 
 wiU by no means suit his exalted purposes to make 
 it public. There exists among unenlightened men a 
 singular prejudice in favor of disinterestedness, even 
 when it approaches to prodigality, and the thoughtless 
 spendthrift, who in their apologetic language is no- 
 body's enemy but his own, is always preferred to the 
 thrifty citizen who is nobody's friend. 
 
 It is therefore necessary that the true patriot should 
 cautiously veil from the piercing eyes of the world 
 this exclusive feeling of self-interest, and advance 
 some ostensible motive more congenial to the feelings 
 of those whom he intends to make the instruments of 
 his prosperity. Now, I believe it will be found that 
 mankind, when they adopt a disguise, generally choose 
 one as different as possible from their ordinary habit ; 
 or, when they assume a character for the purpose of 
 
THE IDEA OF A TRUE PATRIOT. 61 
 
 practising on the credulity of mankind, take that 
 which is most opposite to their natures. Thus, the 
 drunkard will endeavour to put on an air of de- 
 mure sobriety; the glutton wiU affect temperance, 
 and complain of his want of appetite ; the hypocrite 
 lament his incapacity to disguise any thing from the 
 world; the mountebank, being generally a very silly 
 fellow, attempt to pass for a conjurer ; and the true 
 patriot, being governed by the great motive of indi- 
 vidual interest, affect the exclusive pursuit of the in- 
 terests of others. 
 
 Distinguished philosophers have surmised that a 
 great portion of the knowledge of mankind Was de- 
 rived from a profound observation of the habits and 
 instincts of brutes. K this opinion, so compliment- 
 ary to my fellow-men, should be just, we may suppose 
 that the practice was suggested by the example of 
 the bird, which cunningly allures the attention of the 
 unpractised urchin from its nest, by seeming to direct 
 her anxiety toward the opposite quarter. Thus we 
 find the true patriot disavowing, with obtrusive clam- 
 our, his real intent, and decoying the suspicion of 
 unwary observers from that point where all his hopes 
 are centred- 
 
 Perhaps to those whose minds are stinted to the 
 mere comprehension of plain, every-day, homespun 
 virtue, this species of disguise may appear like hy- 
 pocrisy. But as there are pious frauds, so there is, in 
 the eye of sound patriotism, a pious hypocrisy. It is 
 when a man condescends to deceive others, for the 
 purpose of advancing the public good, or his own, 
 which has been proved the same. And here I must 
 beg leave to observe, that there is a most unreasona- 
 
62 LITEEARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 ble and vulgar prejudice against the hypocrite, who 
 in fact produces great benefit to society, and, though 
 good for nothing himself, is the cause of much good 
 in others. The mere appearance of virtue, say the 
 casuists, is salutary, because it often leads others to 
 be really good ; as the impostor Mahomet drew after 
 him thousands of sincere votaries. 
 
 I now come to the second grand principle of the 
 true patriot, to wit, that the public welfare almost 
 always demands the sacrifice of private virtue, or, in 
 other words, that one cannot be a good man and a 
 great patriot at the same time, according to the usual 
 acceptation. 
 
 In the pursuit of great objects, such as promoting 
 or destroying the happiness of a nation, the most pro- 
 found reasoners have held it allowable, nay praise- 
 worthy, to dispense, if necessary, with those ordinary 
 rules of action which govern men in common circum- 
 stances. Thus a man may lawfully do that in the 
 attainment of a kingdom, with great glory to himself, 
 which, if done to gain a farm, would utterly demolish 
 his reputation, and forthwith bring him to the gallows. 
 In the usual routine of private life, it is held a crime 
 against the society of which we are members, to utter 
 or to publish wilful falsehoods ; to blacken the good 
 name of our neighbour ; to vilify a large portion of our 
 countrymen ; or to make it our daily labour to foment 
 divisions, sharpen animosities, and nourish the most 
 unkind antipathies among the different classes of our 
 feUow-citizens. Nothing indeed but the purest patri- 
 otism can justify these breaches of common-law vir- 
 tue, and none but a true patriot possesses the chemical 
 power of changing, by an analysis that would con- 
 
THE IDEA OF A TRUE PATRIOT. 63 
 
 found the experimental science of Sir Humphrey Davy 
 himself, these breaches of private duties into public 
 benefits. 
 
 But the solution of this difficulty is easy enough ; 
 this seeming inconsistency arising altogether out of 
 that opposition which exists between private and pub- 
 lic virtue, which are, by ignorant people, so prepos- 
 terously confounded together. The true patriot is^ 
 however, aware of this distinction ; accordingly, de- 
 spising the little every-day duties that are eternally in 
 a man's way, he frames a more enlarged and liberal 
 code of morality, admirably adapted to a lofty genius 
 elevated above the petty prejudices that circumscribe 
 the actions of little men.. The noble maxim that 
 " The end justifies the means," forms the guide of his 
 conduct, and he does not scruple to become a bad 
 citizen, and a bad neighbour — a false friend, or an 
 unprincipled betrayer, for the good of his country, or, 
 what is the same thing, the good of himself. But it 
 is only the true patriot, and one, too, of the first order, 
 who can rise to that degree of sublime public virtue, 
 which consists in the sacrifice of those heart- subduing 
 ties that take such fast hold of weaker men, and 
 restrain them from effectually contributing to the 
 individual-general prosperity. 
 
 Indeed, it requires not only great strength of mind 
 in the true patriot to enable him to practise this 
 ardent species of virtue, but also great depth of rea- 
 soning to discover that it is really virtue, and that of 
 the rarest kind, because its difficulties are increased 
 by the opposition of early-imbibed modes of thinking, 
 as well as natural feelings. It was this sublime 
 patriotism which enabled the elder Brutus to con- 
 
64 LITEEABY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 demn his offspring to death, and inspired the younger 
 one to stab his benefactor. These exploits have ac- 
 cordingly been made the theme of historic eulogy; 
 and nothing furnishes a stronger proof of the injustice 
 of fame, than that nobody has thought proper to cele- 
 brate the singular virtue of Peter the Great of Russia, 
 who condemned his only son to death ; or of Francis 
 Ravaillac, the assassin of Henry the Fourth of France. 
 To be sure, the purity of the great Peter's act is sul- 
 lied by the fact that the son deserved his fate ; and 
 Ravaillac is deprived of half the splendour of his 
 achievement on account of his having had no tie of 
 gratitude to restrain him. And besides, the one was 
 a Muscovite, the other a Frenchman, while Brutus 
 had the fortune of being a Roman, a name which, 
 through the caprice of history, has become insepara- 
 bly connected with virtue. 
 
 But ignorant people, who only comprehend that 
 simple virtue which depends on no refinement of 
 reasoning, and requires no metaphysical logic to 
 define, nor any careful chemical analysis to ascertain 
 its quality, are altogether incapable of conceiving this 
 exalted species of patriotism, which consists in the 
 sacrifice of our noblest feelings. The only instance 
 I remember of the kind in this country, is that of the 
 famous Indian chief. Colonel Brandt, who put his son 
 to death with as little compunction as either Brutus 
 or Peter the Great. But the detractors from his 
 merit say he was intoxicated at the time ; if so, the 
 palm must still rest with the Roman, who performed 
 his sacrifice in cold blood. 
 
 With regard, however, to what may be considered 
 the relative duties of man in his social and political 
 
THE IDEA OP A TRUE PATRIOT. 65 
 
 capacity, and how, as the member of a community, 
 his duty as a citizen is at war with his feehngs as a 
 mere individual, the question is one of extreme nicety. 
 People who suppose that it is as easy to find out 
 what is really virtue, as it is to practise it, argue with 
 an utter ignorance of the subject. All the subtlety of 
 the most acute genius is necessary to ascertain the 
 almost imperceptible line of distinction between moral 
 turpitude and true patriotism; or how far it is the 
 duty of a man to violate, in the character of a patriot, 
 those principles which constitute his rule of action as 
 a mere moralist. That such a difficulty does really 
 exist is demonstrated by the vast number of great 
 books which have been written for the purpose of 
 defining virtue, in which she appears in as many 
 forms as Proteus, and is sometimes treated as a god- 
 dess, at others like an impostor. In these books, 
 dreadful are the conflicts between private and public 
 duties, which seem, like the ancient English and 
 Scottish borderers, to have been always at war and 
 committing depredations on each others' territories.. 
 The true patriot, having learned to distinguish be- 
 tween these conflicting duties, proceeds upon the only 
 true principle, that of sacrificing the lesser virtues to 
 the greater. Thus it is the duty of a man to speak 
 the truth ; to be faithful to his friend ; and to deal 
 justly with all mankind in common cases. But if the 
 true patriot finds out, which in fact he can always do 
 by the aid of his superior sagacity, that the govern- 
 ment of his country is in the hands of the worst men 
 in it, who will if let alone inevitably bring it to ruin ; 
 or, on the other hand, if he discovers that the party 
 opposed to the administration only want to get the 
 
 5 
 
66 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 power into their hands to ruin the country themselves 
 — in either of these cases it certainly becomes his 
 duty to save it from destruction by every means in 
 his power. 
 
 If, then, in the pursuit of this noble object, he 
 descends to the most ignoble actions, and scruples not 
 to violate the truth — to betray private confidence — 
 to blast the good name of his neighbour — to resort to 
 habitual calumnies, and, in short, descend to the level 
 of unprincipled vice — still this dereliction of those 
 principles which usually govern common minds, is 
 precisely what constitutes the superiority of patriot- 
 ism over every other virtue. It is no very extraordi- 
 nary exertion to practise virtue, when it is attended 
 with no violation of those feelings and attachments 
 which are so closely connected with the human heart 
 But to enter into fellowship with fraud and hypocrisy; 
 to break the early ties of youthful intimacy ; to com- 
 bat in the lowest arena of life, and to make a noble 
 sacrifice of the respect of aU men of honour, for the 
 good of our country; — is a species of virtue incon- 
 testably allied to excellence, inasmuch as it possesses 
 the unalienable attribute of all perfection, that of most 
 nearly approaching its opposite extreme. 
 
 It has long been held a great stretch of virtue, to 
 consent even for a little while to shroud the character 
 — to become the voluntary martyr of infamy, and to 
 • appear vicious, for the sake of some eventual good. 
 What, then, is due to that exemplary patriot who 
 condescends to he so, in the pure hope that public 
 happiness, and the individual-general good, will at 
 last spring from this disinterested sacrifice, even as 
 the safety of Rome was achieved by devoting to 
 
THE IDEA OP A TEUE PATEIOT. 67 
 
 destruction whatever was most precious among its 
 citizens. 
 
 Men of the ordinary level of virtue are apt to be gov- 
 erned by the old maxim, that evil must never be done 
 that good may come of it — a maxim which if strictly 
 adhered to, would demolish all true patriots under the 
 sun. Their very vocation consists in doing evil that 
 good may come of it, and in nobly sacrificing private 
 feelings, that is, the private feelings of others, to their 
 conception of the public advantage. For instance, 
 now, some men of pure intentions but narrow views, 
 ■ would suppose they were acting the part of true 
 patriots, by maintaining the truth ; by inculcating a 
 union of sentiment in points of importance among 
 members of the same community; by doing every 
 thing in their power to preserve their domestic peace ; 
 and by infusing into the minds of all within the sphere 
 of their influence that national regard for our country- 
 men which forms the best cement of civU society. The 
 genuine patriot, on the contrary, forthwith divests 
 himself of these meaner principles that circumscribe 
 the actions of little men, and, scorning that paltry fair- 
 ness which deals justice even to an enemy — that 
 narrow-minded bigotry which adheres to the truth 
 even when falsehood might subserve its interests — 
 that treasonable friendship which clings even to the 
 remains of expiring confidence, and hovers over the 
 dying embers of affection — and that chicken-hearted 
 candour which impels us to acknowledge that men 
 who differ in opinion may be equally honest — spurs 
 on triumphantly to the attainment of that individual 
 wealth, which has been demonstrated to be the only 
 legitimate foundation of national prosperity. 
 
1815-1816. [JEt. 37-38.] 
 the chited states and england — secketaet of the boakd of 
 
 NAVY COMMISSIONERS — EUINS OF THE CAPITOL — MISSES HIS OLD 
 FRIENDS — IMPRESSIONS OF WASHINGTON CITY — JAMES MADISON — 
 SUNDRY CELEBRITIES. 
 
 Earlt in 1815 Mr. Paulding published "THE 
 ITNITED STATES AND ENGLAND : being a reply to the 
 criticism on Inchiquin's Letters contained in the 
 Quarterly Review for January, 1814." This was a 
 pamphlet of 115 pages, published by Bradford and 
 Inskeep, Philadelphia, and A. H. Inskeep, New 
 York. It was wholly a controversial work, in which 
 he haxiled the presumed author of the objectionable 
 article rather roughly over the coals. He had fixed 
 upon Southey, the laureate, as the offender, but it 
 appears by a letter of his to Washington Irving at 
 the close of this year that he had been mistaken. 
 
 TO "W. lEVrNG. 
 
 Washinoton, 15th Dec. 1815. 
 Southey's denial, which you mention, has been published in 
 our newspapers, and, had it not been coupled with some obser- 
 vations which deprived him of all claim to an apology, I would 
 have addressed a letter to him making such atonement as I 
 hope would have been perfectly satisfactory. As it is, I shall 
 content myself with silence, for I believe there is no prospect 
 of a new edition ever being called for. 
 [68] 
 
THE RUINS OP THE CAPITOL. 69 
 
 Of John Bull and Brother Jonathan, The Lay, and 
 this last book, Mr. Paulding writes, many years later: 
 " These were all political, and attracted the attention 
 of Mr. Madison, who has since informed me that he 
 gave directions to the different heads of Departments 
 to apprise him when any office worthy of my accept- 
 ance became vacant. Before such an event occurred 
 peace was concluded, and a Board of Navy Commis- 
 sioners being . initiated, I was appointed its Secre- 
 tary." The appointment bears date April 28, 1815. 
 
 I presume he went at once to reside at Washing- 
 ton, and that the following lines, dreary and mournful 
 as their subject, and which carry something impres- 
 sive in the very indistinctness of the images, give his 
 first impressions of the ruins of the Capitol burnt by 
 the British in the summer of the previous year. 
 
 As through yon noble pile, at evening's fall, 
 
 When the pale moonbeams mingled with the stain 
 
 Of black'ning fires upon the mouldering wall, 
 I pensive strayed, and mourned the ruined fane ; 
 
 A figure stalked athwart my wayward path. 
 And stopped ray musing, meditative way ! 
 
 Stern was its look, as if in secret wrath 
 It sought revenge, and shunned the tell-tale day. 
 
 And, as I gazed with wonder at the shade, 
 A gleam of moonlight flickered on its head, 
 
 Whose whitened honors hoary age betrayed. 
 
 And visage pale seemed borrowed from the dead. 
 
 I saw an hour-glass tremble in its hand. 
 
 And on a scythe reclined its aged form ; 
 Majestic though in ruin, sadly grand. 
 
 It seemed t' have weathered many a pelting storm. 
 
70 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 'Twas Time ! — and indignation checked my fear : — 
 
 "Insatiate fiend," I cried, in angry voice, 
 " Hast come to view thy ruthless triumph here, 
 
 And o'er thy worlc of ravage to rejoice ? " 
 
 Slowly he answered, with a bitter smile. 
 
 And voice that seemed to come from some old grave : — 
 " It was not I that blasted this fair pile ; 
 
 I came to mourn the wreck I could not save. 
 
 " Thou know'st, as I know, how a splendid band 
 From far-famed Albion's gentle bosom came ; 
 
 Thou know'st that they applied the reckless brand : 
 Jbut behold — /shall record — the shame.'' 
 
 He said — and vanished like a thing of dream ! 
 
 I heard his wings slide through the silent air ; 
 I saw his scythe emit a parting gleam. 
 
 And, like a meteor, stream his snowy hair. 
 
 Mr. Paulding found his position a pleasant one. 
 In the letter to Irving last quoted, he writes : — 
 
 It gives rae leisure, respect, and independence, which last is 
 peculiarly- gratifying from its novelty. All my life I have 
 been fettered by poverty, and ray vivacity checked by the 
 hopelessness of the future. Now my spirits are good, my pros- 
 pects fair, and the treatment I receive from all around is 
 marked with respectful consideration. I tell you these things 
 because I know they will give you pleasure. Though not of 
 a talkative gossiping character, our friendship I trust is of a 
 nature far more respectable and solid. Did I want assist- 
 ance, advice, or consolation, I would ask it of you, and I 
 would give it as freely. In every thing that would give you 
 happiness or honour I would rejoice ; and so feeling, I disclose 
 to you circumstances that give me happiness and honour, that 
 you may also rejoice on my account. The President is very 
 friendly to me in deportment and little attentions, and so are 
 
LETTERS. 71 
 
 the rest of the magaificos, particularly the Secretary of the 
 Navy, who smokes my segars in the politest manner imagin- 
 able. 
 
 Toward the conclusion of this letter he alludes to 
 an early associate of his correspondent and himself, 
 and now a brother-in-law of the former : — 
 
 Mr. Clay speaks of spending some time at Brummy, 
 [Birraingliam], with Harry Van Wart, who, he says, is charm- 
 ingly situated, and a fine fellow. I was feelingly pleased with 
 this, for I remembered when Hal and I were vagabonds to- 
 gether, and never dreamed that he would entertain a noble 
 ambassador at his house, or I sit at the table of a President 
 of the United States. Ask him if he remembers what a 
 couple of likely fellows we were, and assure him of my 
 affectionate recollection. Remember me also to Sally, [Mrs. 
 V. W.], and tell her to bring up her boys like true Ameri- 
 cans. 
 
 Notwithstanding his agreeable situation, he missed 
 his old New York friends. This is notably evinced in 
 several letters of this period to Henry Brevoort, Jr. 
 For example, it appears that Mr. Brevoort's life had 
 been despaired of, in consequence of a relapse of the 
 Influenza, and Paulding writes to him when on the 
 mend, December 1st, 1815. 
 
 William Kemble wrote me an account of your late danger, 
 and I pictured to myself the anxious solicitude of your good 
 parents, and Margaret, who owes you so much, until I could 
 hardly see. He also told ,me, that in your extreme illness, 
 you remembered and spoke of me, and never believe that I 
 shall forget this proof of your regard. Alone as I am here, 
 my heart is wide open to impressions of past times, and to 
 know that I am remembered, and cherished by my old asso- 
 ciates, is one of the chief pleasures I now enjoy. Believe me 
 
72 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAUJ.DING. 
 
 I most affectionately rejoice in your recovery being now cer- 
 tain, and say to your worthy fatlier,, your kind affectionate 
 mother, and your good little sister, that I wish them joy a 
 hundred times, and wish too that I could come and eat a 
 roasted goose with them next Sunday, as I sometimes used to 
 do in days of yore. 
 
 And again, February 14th, 1816. 
 
 Though I am in pretty good spirits here, yet I often feel 
 homesick and lonely for want of old friends that I shall never 
 replace. Trees that are transplanted after a certain age never 
 take root again. 
 
 To the same correspondent he gives his first im- 
 pressions of the seat of Government. 
 
 Sept. 25, 1815. You cannot conceive of what consequence 
 a bachelor like myself is in this odd city, where there are at 
 least one thousand women, who being too lazy to work and too 
 stupid to read, " have no delight to pass away their hours " but 
 by attending to the affairs of other people. The consequence 
 of all this is that it is the most paltry tattling place in the 
 whole world. A man can't put on a clean shirt, or turn round, 
 or pay a visit, or speak to a lady, without a Tea-party being 
 called to discuss the matter. I have occasionally fallen in with 
 the tavern-keeping belle, and at the President's 4th July levee 
 talked a good deal to a married lady from Ohio, one of the 
 most beautiful creatures I ever saw. Two very substantial tea- 
 party stories were got up on these foundations, and, as there is 
 no end to the limits of gossiping, I should not be surprised if 
 they travelled to New York. You will laugh at my com- 
 mencing the hero of such gallant tales. 
 
 December \st, 1815. This is an odd place, and everybody 
 and every thhig seems to hang upon the Government. There 
 is a regular gradation from the President downward, and I 
 believe I am the only independent man in "Washington. Did 
 
OBSERTATIONS IN WASHINGTON. 73 
 
 you ever see a basket of crabs, lifted up body and soul, by 
 taking hold of the top one ? Just so it is here — take hold of 
 the President, and you raise the whole city, one hanging 
 at the tail of the other in a regular gradation of depend- 
 ence. 
 
 February 28<A, 1816. The society of this place principally 
 consists of birds of passage. Of these by far the greater part 
 are such as one wishes never to have seen — and a few such 
 as having seen, one would wish never to part with. 
 
 Elsewhere, in print, he describes the condition of 
 the city itself about this period. " Washington, 
 though beautifully situated, is rather a, dull place at 
 this time of year, [Autumn], except to sportsmen, 
 who find excellent shooting about the centre of the 
 city. I have seen great numbers of quaU, plover, and 
 snipe, within a couple or three hundred yards of the 
 President's mansion, and they do say that deer abound 
 in the ' slashes ' as they are called, about half a mile 
 North of that building. I can't answer to that fact, 
 but I have seen plenty of rabbits there." 
 
 In the queer capital thus outlined our author re- 
 sided about eight years, during which he became 
 acquainted with most of the distinguished public men 
 of the day, with many of whom he maintained friendly 
 relations as long as they lived. He would occa- 
 sionally sketch one very happily. Mr. Madison, 
 among others, remained a life-long friend. Of him 
 he writes to Brevoort in February, 1816 : — 
 
 The great men here seem disposed to treat me with con- 
 siderable respect, and I have several times made the President 
 laugh in a manner altogether unbecoming a great man ; so that 
 I think my fortune is made, snug enough. This same Chief 
 Magistrate is a confounded sensible fellow, and talks about 
 
74 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 every thing like a professor. He is generally grave, but of an 
 evening when the business of the day is done, he loves to talk 
 about this that and the other thing, and enjoys a joke hugely — 
 as a great man should do. I begin to have a great liking to 
 him, which, considering he is a greater man than myself, I think 
 discovei-s no small degree of magnanimity. The other day I 
 dined there. The old squire was in a good Iiumour, and gave 
 us some famous Claret and Champagne ; whereupon Speaker 
 Clay, the little plump Vice-President Gaillard, and General 
 Mason, and I, did get as it were a little beyond the line of 
 gravity becoming great statesmen. 
 
 Though partly written , many years after this, I 
 give here some further observations on Mr. Madison. 
 
 " At the close of his Presidency, I accompanied 
 him in the steamboat down the Potomac to Acquia 
 creek, where his carriage waited for him, and if ever 
 man rejoiced on being freed from the cares of public 
 life, it was he. During the voyage he was as playful 
 as a child ; talked and jested with everybody on 
 board; and reminded me of a schoolboy on a long 
 vacation. 
 
 " The next summer I visited him, according to pre- 
 vious arrangement, and spent some weeks at Mont- 
 pelier. Our daily routine, with little variation, except 
 Sunday, was as follows. After breakfast, between 
 seven and eight, I took my segar, and seated myself 
 on the Western portico of the house, looking toward 
 the Blue Ridge, while Mr. Madison would commence 
 a conversation ; sometimes on public affairs in con- 
 nexion with his own life, in which he spoke without 
 reserve, and from which I gathered many lessons of 
 experience ; sometimes on literary and philosophical 
 subjects ; while, not unfrequently, for he was a capital 
 
JAMES MADISON. 75 
 
 story-teller, he -would relate anecdotes, highly amusing 
 as well as interesting. He was a man of wit, relished 
 wit in others, and his small bright blue eyes would 
 twinkle most wickedly when lighted up by some 
 whimsical conception or association. 
 
 " By and by the horses were brought, and we set 
 out on a tour to visit the different parts of the estate 
 where farming operations were going on. As he 
 never encumbered himself with a servant on these 
 occasions, it fell to his lot to open the gates, which 
 he did with a crooked stick, without dismounting, a 
 feat which required no little skill. He undertook to 
 teach me, and in time I acquired something of the 
 art, but never could arrive at his dexterity. 
 
 " In the course of these daily rides Mr. Madison 
 gave me the private history of sundry important 
 transactions, from which I gathered that many great 
 events arise from little causes, and that, as relates to 
 the real moving impulses of public measures, History 
 knows about as much of the Past as she does of. the 
 Future. My own subsequent experience as a member 
 of Mr. Van Buren's cabinet, has fully satisfied me 
 that our statesmen themselves would often be puzzled 
 to account for their own actions, or to select from the 
 multiplicity of motives that which above aU others 
 was most influential in directing them. 
 
 " Mr. Madison had, in great perfection, the power 
 of condensing in his speeches and writings, though 
 he did not always exercise it, for such is the appetite 
 of the people of this country for long orations and 
 discussions, that they do not like to swallow the truth 
 in an incontrovertible axiom, but prefer it strongly 
 diluted with verbiage. 
 
76 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " Mr. Madison had not, perhaps, so much genius as 
 Mr. Jefferson, but, in my opinion, his mind was more 
 consummate, and his faculties more nicely balanced 
 than those of his predecessor, who, though justly 
 called the great apostle of Democracy, I think some- 
 times carried his doctrines to the verge of political 
 fanaticism. 
 
 " In brief, I have always considered Mr. Madison 
 as emphatically The Sage of his time." 
 
 With John Randolph, also, he struck up a spe- 
 cies of intimacy. From certain early memoranda, it 
 would seem that he had at first adopted the current 
 prejudices against that extraordinary man. But the 
 strange character grew upon him, and I find allusions 
 to this personage at intervals of years; and, finally, 
 an elaborated study, which I shall give in its proper 
 place. 
 
 In May, 1816, he went to Annapolis on public busi- 
 ness, and jots down for Brevoort memoranda of sun- 
 dry celebrities he met: 
 
 I dined with old Carroll of Carrollton, who is a little old 
 fellow almost eighty, but active sprightly and intelligent in a 
 most extraordinary degree, and almost as good a laugher as 
 Adam Drumraond. I never saw a finer old fellow, and we 
 took to each other hugely. 
 
 Here is a touch which brings back the awkward 
 uniform of that day : — 
 
 Among the great men down at Annapolis was Genl. Scott, 
 who, bating his length, looks like a yellow-jacket hornet, being 
 covered with gold lace. 
 
 His excellency, Mr. Pinkney, was also there : — 
 
 He is a man of great powers of mind ; but exceedingly vain 
 
WILLIAM PINKNET. 77 
 
 of his talents and person, and as punctilious as a Spanish dou 
 of the true Castilian blood. There is something splendid 
 about him however. 
 
 Mr. Pinkney had at this time just been appointed 
 ambassador to the Court of Naples. Mr. Paulding 
 writes of him, many years later. 
 
 " I never expect any thing from a man who thinks 
 of his clothes. And yet the late William Pinkney of 
 Maryland, was, at fifty, more careful in his toilet than 
 a dandy with nothing to recommend him but his 
 dress. But he was an exception to a rule. He was 
 by far the most finished speaker I ever heard at the 
 bar, and his reasoning powers were equal to his elo- 
 quence. His application was commensurate with 
 both; and his death was caused by sitting up two 
 nights in succession, preparing himself to argue a 
 great cause before the Supreme Court. He was the 
 only really great man I ever knew who was afraid of 
 soiling his boots." 
 
VI. 
 
 1816-1817. [JEt. 38-39.] 
 
 LETTEKS FROM THE SOUTH — LETTER TO IRVING — A RUSTIC FUNERAL — 
 THE SniNPLASTER DYNASTY — CHARACTER OF BROTHER JONATHAN — 
 THE CAPHON ROCK. 
 
 Mr. Paulding left Annapolis with the Navy Com- 
 missioners, on a survey of Chesapeake Bay, and 
 about the middle of July, 1816, Brought up at Nor- 
 folk. He started thence, in consequence of Ul health, 
 on a tour through Virginia, not reaching Washington 
 again till late in the fall. 
 
 The first fruits of this journey were LETTERS FROM 
 THE SOUTH, published in 1817, by " James Eastburn 
 &D Co., at the Literary Rooms, Broadway corner of 
 Pine street, New York." These form two rambling 
 volumes, in which the author digresses continually 
 into matters which have no connexion whatever with 
 his excursion. He entered the State by the way of 
 York and WOliamsburg, following up the Pamunkey 
 river; thence across the Blue Ridge to the upper 
 waters of the Shenandoah ; thence across the moun- 
 tains again, taking the Warm the White and the 
 Sweet Sulphur Springs in his way; thence to the 
 Natural Bridge, and so down the vaUey to Berkeley 
 Springs ; coming out finally at Harper's Ferry. 
 
 In a letter to Irving, April 5, 1818, our author thus 
 alludes to himself and to this publication : — 
 
 For myself — who perhaps you will wish to hear some- 
 [78] 
 
LETTERS FROM THE SOUTH. 79 
 
 thing about — I am in possession of a situation just such as I 
 like, affording me a little more than I spend although I re- 
 strict myself in none of my wishes, and ample time to devote 
 to my favourite pursuits. I have taken up my abode at Com- 
 modore Porter's, who has built a stately castle on the hill 
 immediately opposite, and about a mile distant from, the house 
 of the President. Here, occupying the Western turret, which 
 looks far down the Potomac and commands a noble prospect, 
 I enjoy an agreeable home, and indulge my scribbling propen- 
 sities, to which I have now taken a decided vocation, I be- 
 lieve for the remainder of my life. The state of my health 
 for more than a year past has interfered with this pursuit, but 
 in the midst of lassitude, bile, and headaches, I last summer 
 produced a little work, partly consisting of some recollections 
 of a tour made the summer before in Virginia, and partly ficti- 
 tious, which I believe is popular enough, notwithstanding the 
 unhappy auspices under which it was written. 
 
 This work is full of characteristic matter ; disquisi- 
 tions about any thing that chanced to come into his 
 head, dainty little pictures of nature, anecdotes or 
 short stories touched off with a careless but striking 
 grace, together with some details of manners and cus- 
 toms which will one day be invaluable to the anti- 
 quary and the historian. I make a few quotations by 
 way of sample. He chances upon a burial-scene amid 
 the mountains, which is described in a vein of fine 
 simplicity. It wiU be seen that he has ingrafted some 
 recbllections of his early days. 
 
 A RUSTIC FU]SrERAL. 
 
 Having two or three hours to spare till dinner, we 
 rambled about the churchyard, reading the records of 
 mortality, which, though everywhere confined to a 
 few simple items, concerning a few insignificant peo- 
 
80 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 pie, are always interesting. They are the history of 
 high and low ; and none can read them without being 
 impressed with a conviction that all are his brothers 
 at last — for all die. He who moulders below was 
 born, — and died ; and whether rich, or a beggar, his 
 chronicle is that of kings. The struggles of restless 
 ambition, — the reverses of the great, — and the story 
 of the wreck of lofty pride, we read as an interesting 
 romance, addressing itself solely to the imagination: 
 but when a monarch or a hero dies, he becomes our 
 equal ; his death is an example equally with that of 
 the meanest mortal ; and we here realize our common 
 nature, and common end. 
 
 While poring over these tomb-stones, our attention 
 was attracted by a long procession, on foot, on horse- 
 back, and in carriages of various kinds, winding slowly 
 over one of the hiUs at a distance. It came toward 
 the churchyard, entered it, and stopped at a large oak, 
 under which was a newly-dug grave we had not no- 
 ticed before. The people of the village were attracted 
 by it, and came up, one after another, until there 
 were, I suppose, two hundred, men, women, and chil- 
 dren, gathered together. Without a whisper, except 
 that of the oaks around, the coffin was taken from the 
 wagon, lowered into the grave, and covered with earth. 
 I never witnessed a scene more solemn and affecting ; 
 and beautiful as is our church funeral service, I wiU 
 venture to say it never raised a feeling of more deep 
 and awful devotion, than that which impressed the 
 dead silence around. There was no need of saying 
 '' dust to dust ; " every clod of earth, as it fell hollowly 
 on the coffin, proclaimed it ; neither was any proof 
 wanting that " man that is born of a woman," must 
 
A EUSTIC FUNERAL. 81 
 
 die, for a thousand little hillocks around gave sUent 
 testimony to the fact. When the mound over the 
 grave was smoothed with pious care, a little buzzing 
 ran through the crowd — and as it slowly separated, 
 some ventured to talk about the deceased person, who 
 was, I found, a Quaker woman, who died — as others 
 die, of some common malady or other. She was 
 neither a belle, nor a beauty; — no crowd ever fol- 
 lowed her at a ball, nor could I learn that she had 
 ever received a single offer of marriage, except from 
 the person we had left still standing by her grave. 
 Yet there was something in the story I learned of her, 
 that affected me, I can hardly tell why, for it was not 
 the least romantic. 
 
 It seems that her husband, in consequence of im- 
 prudence or misfortune, had several years before been 
 confined in a prison for debt, leaving a family of eight 
 children destitute. By the rare magic of industry and 
 economy united, this woman, by her own labours, 
 kept the little ones together, — fed, clothed, and sent 
 them to school, until the gaol accidentally took fire, 
 and the prisoner walked home. Here he afterwards 
 remained unmolested, for the virtues of his wife had 
 sanctified his person. There is a species of calm, per- 
 severing, courageous, and unconquerable industry, 
 that gets the better even of fate. Such, it seems, was 
 the industry of this valuable woman, and it was re- 
 warded even in this world. She lived — God bless 
 her — to see her husband independent, and to share 
 many years of independence with him. She reared 
 all her children, saw them honourably settled, and 
 heard the old people say, that, whatever had been her 
 sacrifices for them, they had repaid her, by their duti- 
 
 6 
 
82 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 fill affection and exemplary conduct. Then, when 
 she at last died, neither poet made her an angel nor 
 newspaper eulogy a saint ; but the neighbours, — the 
 neighbours, followed her to the grave without uttering 
 a word, — and the husband and children stood round 
 it with their faces covered. 
 
 Mr. Paulding was aU his life an opponent of what 
 is styled "the credit system", and of paper money. 
 According to his own account he imbibed this preju- 
 dice when a mere child. Writing in 1852, he says, 
 speaking of his first schooling: — 
 
 " It was impossible to send me to a distance, for 
 the only remnant of my father's property was a great 
 pocket-book fiUed with Continental biUs, the frequent 
 contemplation of which gave me such a distaste to 
 paper money that I have ever since despised it, and 
 to this day have no confidence in Bank notes or Bank 
 solvency." 
 
 In a letter of Dec. 14, 1837, to Gouverneur Kem- 
 ble, at that time a member of Congress, he thus 
 expresses himself: — 
 
 Your assurance that the old Deposit System will not be 
 revived gives me great satisfaction. I was under some ap- 
 prehension that nothing would be done until the Banks 
 thought proper to resume specie payments, when the public 
 money would as a matter of course be again confided to them, 
 again to constitute a National gambling fund. In that case 
 I had some thought of joining my old friend Commodore Por- 
 ter [then U. S. minister to the Sublime Porte] at Constanti- 
 nople, for I prefer the despotism of the scimitar to that of 
 Shinplasters, and a bashaw of three tails to a bank director. 
 
 On this trip, away up in the solitudes of the Blue 
 Ridge, he was taken with an access of this fury, and 
 
ANTI-BANK. 83 
 
 discharged himself in a fulrtiination to which I have 
 ventured to give the title of 
 
 THE SHIN-I'LASTEE DYNASTY. 
 
 The " Old Ancients," as our friend W , the 
 
 bank director, used to caU them, pictured the god of 
 riches as lolling in the lap of peace, and glittering in 
 ornaments of gold. The modern Plutus is quite a 
 different sort of personage, who, if he had his dues, 
 and came forth in his appropriate livery, would look 
 very much like a scarecrow in a cornfield, which is 
 generally a man of straw, clothed in rags. This beg- 
 garly Plutus, instead of being nursed by peace like 
 his ancient namesake, is the offspring of war. By the 
 exercise of a rare kind of magic, he converts the debts 
 of an institution into a source of wealth, and is, con- 
 sequently, rich in proportion to the number of his 
 creditors, rather than of his debtors. This new system 
 of enriching one's self under the patronage of the 
 paper Plutus is a great improvement on the ancient 
 one, since it is much easier for a man to get in debt 
 to others than to get others in debt to him. 
 
 To illustrate this, 1 will simply give you the promi- 
 nent features of the present fashionable banking pro- 
 cess, which has set so many splendid paupers on 
 horseback, and caused aU those, with few exceptions, 
 who are not connected with the system, to go on foot. 
 A modern bank spins itself out of its own bowels, as 
 a spider does the web with which he catches the silly 
 flies that buzz about. I will give you the history of 
 one of these, which is nearly the history of all, and 
 which I learned from an ex-director. 
 
 In a certain city, over which there did not reign a 
 
84 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 mighty monarch, but which was governed by an illus- 
 trious mayor and twenty-four fat aldermen, which is 
 a great city on paper, and, lilfe the famous Terra 
 Incognita, makes a terrible figure on the map, but is 
 just as difficult to be found elsewhere as the said 
 unknown land — in this great city, certain tavern- 
 keepers, stage-owners, and drivers of hackney-coaches, 
 being in want of money, did incontinently gather 
 themselves together, and make a bank. They first 
 elected themselves directors, and after advertising that 
 the capital stock of the bank, to wit, the paper not yet 
 made, was all that they meant to appropriate to the 
 payment of their debts, fell to work and printed as 
 many bank-notes as the president could possibly sign. 
 With these notes they paid up their instalments, by 
 borrowing of the bank to pay the bank. The plan 
 succeeded so famously, that Messrs. Tom, Dick, 
 Harry, tag, rag, bobtail, and the rest of them, got up 
 banks in the same way, untU at last money became 
 so plenty, that it was actually the cheapest thing at 
 market — which was a great blessing. Thus it con- 
 tinued, until this great city contained more than a 
 dozen banks, which, in a little time, issued more 
 paper than all the property in the place above and 
 under ground could redeem. Everybody could get as 
 much money as he wanted ; consequently everybody 
 ran in debt, and nobody would work, because he 
 could live without so degrading himself. The whole 
 community became independent, except that every- 
 body was dependent on banks, and no man could call 
 his house his own. People tallt of the golden age — 
 but it was nothing to the age of paper. Houses grew 
 up like mushrooms, and tumbled down as soon. 
 
THE SHIN-PLASTEE DYNASTY. 86 
 
 Property attained to such a high price that nobody 
 could afford to buy it but those who had no money ; 
 and every man, disdaining the pursuits of regular in- 
 dustry, became a dashing speculator, and went neck 
 or nothing — which was another very fine thing. The 
 staple commodities of this town attained to such an 
 enormous and extravagant value, owing to the great 
 plenty of paper money, that they cost more at home 
 than they would sell for abroad ; and thus that per- 
 nicious race of men, the merchants, was ruined — 
 which was another exceeding fine thing. But the 
 beauty of the whole system was, that it enabled a 
 man to live in splendor all his life, leaving it to his 
 children to pay his debts, instead of ruining their 
 morals by bequeathing them a great fortune, as had 
 hitherto been fashionable. Having produced this con- 
 summation so devoutly to be wished, nothing was 
 wanting but to render it as permanent as the nature 
 of things would permit. So they petitioned the leg- 
 islature, which presided over the destinies of this 
 great city, stating that they had established these 
 banks in the teeth of the laws, to the which they had 
 been induced by their great respect for the legislature 
 which enacted the laws, and that therefore justice 
 demanded that this violation of the law, and this re- 
 spect for the lawgivers, should be duly acknowledged, 
 by legalizing these banks as a reward for their breach 
 of the laws. This reasoning was irresistible, and 
 charters were 'given them in a lump, as an induce- 
 ment to others to break the laws and respect the 
 legislature. 
 
 The example of this great paper city has been fol- 
 lowed in the neighborhood, in aU directions, so that 
 
86 LITEEAET LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 there is scarcely a town, that is to say, a cluster of a 
 dozen houses, in this part of the world, that has not 
 one or more banks. Some are smitten with the pros- 
 pect of sharing in the spoils of simple industry, which 
 pay^ all the tax of the depreciation of money; and 
 honest men are frequently forced to become accom- 
 plices rather than victims. The country is puffed into 
 an appearance of bloated prosperity which deceives 
 the unwary, but is in reality weakened most essen- 
 tially by this precarious expansion, and impoverished, 
 in fact, by the loss of a portion of its export trade, 
 owing to the unnaturally high price of every staple ar- 
 ticle at home, as weU as by the comparative decrease 
 of the value of incomes arising from the solid source 
 of real capital. Men of the largest landed estates can- 
 not cope with the expenses of a dependent on a bank, 
 and must either shrink from a comparison with these 
 upstart, unreal pageants, who have bank directors for 
 their friends, or join the current, mortgage their estates, 
 live splendidly, die insolvent, and leave their children 
 beggars. 
 
 To show the effect of country banks, I wiU relate 
 a little example which came under my own observa- 
 tion a day or two ago, and perhaps gave rise to these 
 speculations. We stopped in the evening to sleep at 
 the house of a Dutchman, who kept a sort of travellers' 
 rest, rather, I beheve, lest he should be obliged to 
 entertain wayfarers for nothing, than from any great 
 desire to add to the profits of his farm. It was a 
 scene, and an evening, that made me melancholy 
 with the fear of some day dying, and leaving a world 
 so lovely. The house was on a rising ground, behind 
 which, and close at hand, rose a majestic mountain, 
 
THE SHIN-PLASTER DYNASTY. 87 
 
 not savage ivith rocks and rugged precipices, but 
 exhibiting a green foliage unbroken to the very top, 
 whose graceful, waving outline, brought to the mind 
 images of peace. In front was spread the richest lit- 
 tle vale I ever saw; where meadows, and cornfields, 
 the latter rising half a dozen feet above the fences, 
 and the former speckled with sheep and cattle, suc- 
 ceeded each other in rich luxuriance. At one extrem- 
 ity ran a branch of the river Shenandoah, half hid 
 among the high elms and sycamores; and a little 
 further on rose a peaked hill, behind which the sun 
 was setting. Every thing seen was peace itself; and 
 every thing heard akin to silence, and only serving to 
 render it more striking in the intervals. Sometimes 
 the cow-bell's far-off tinkle came fluctuating on a tran- 
 sient breeze — sometimes the negro's sonorous and 
 resounding laugh waked the mountain echo — some- 
 times his inimitable whistle, emulating the fife; and 
 occasionally his song, which, mellowed by the distance, 
 was singularly melodious. As long as I live I shaU 
 never forget that scene. 
 
 It was, in truth, a place for a man to make his 
 home; and the honest Dutchman, for such he ap- 
 proved himself, not only by his dialect, but by his 
 invincible predilection for rich bottoms, seemed to 
 think as much ; for he appeared to be actually con- 
 tented — a rare thing in this world. In the calm 
 leisure of the dusk of evening, he and his dame — 
 and a joUy dame was she — good-humored as a lark, 
 and round as a dumpling — came and sat with us in 
 the porch ; he, with his pipe ; she, with her snuff-box, 
 bearing on its lid the likeness of Commodore Porter. 
 This custom is highly eschewed by all orthodox Eng- 
 
88 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 lish travellers; but for my part, if a man is not 
 ■wilfully obtrusive, and transgresses no law of eti- 
 quette that he knows of, I like his company, and can 
 generally get something amusing or instructive from 
 him. 
 
 Mine host seemed such a rare comfortable dog, that 
 I determined to know, if possible, how he became so ; 
 and in order to entitle myself to ^lis history, told him 
 mine beforehand, for country people are always a 
 little curious. The story of the burgomaster, or jus- 
 tice, (for so he announced himself), in substance, was 
 as follows : — 
 
 " I married," said he, " at the age of twenty-six, 
 and my wife — though perhaps you won't believe 
 it — was reckoned a beauty in her day. My fortune 
 was three hundred and twenty-eight pounds, and a 
 negro man ; and my wife brought me a great chest 
 filled with, I dare say, six hundred petticoats and 
 short gowns, which have lasted till this day ; so her 
 clothing cost me nothing. This was what we had to 
 begin the world with. After looking about a little, I 
 bought this farm, which, being much worn and out 
 of order, I got cheap. What I had was enough for 
 the first payment, and the rest of the purchase was to 
 be in three equal annual instalments. 
 
 " The farm, as I said, was then in poor order, the 
 fields a good deal worn out, the fences bad, and the 
 house very old. But there was no time to groan; 
 for the year was coming about, and the money must 
 be paid. So Tom and I, and often my wife, turned 
 out early and late, and worked like horses ; and after 
 selling my harvest, I carried my first payment home 
 in hard doUars. 
 
THE SHIN-PLASTEE DYNASTY. 89 
 
 " Well," continued the Dutchman, " the next year I 
 went on still better, paid the money stUl easier, and 
 at the end of the third year, my farm was ray own. 
 We now thought to make ourselves comfortable by 
 building a better home, for we had but a poor one 
 before ; so in the spring I set to work as soon as the 
 frost was out of the ground. I burnt my own bricks 
 and lime, from my own limestone and clay, and fur- 
 nished timber and boards from my own farm. In the 
 meantime, the war came on ; and, as it is an ill wind 
 that blows nobody good, the number of wagons pass- 
 ing this way increased every day, because the produce 
 could not go round by sea. I sold the entire yield of 
 my land at my door, except the wheat. K that was 
 high, I could afford to send the flour to market ; and 
 if not, I cut it into shorts to feed the wagoners' horses. 
 By the time my house was finished, it was paid for ; 
 and now I don't know what I shall build next, for my 
 part. I am forty-three years old. I have twelve hun- 
 dred acres of as fine bottom as any in Virginia — a 
 good grist and saw mill, a tolerably good wife, if I 
 could only make a fine lady of her — but she sticks 
 to the old chest of clothes like a moth — a decent 
 house over my head; and I owe no man a shilling, 
 except Tom, who, by now and then raising a little 
 grain, shooting a deer, and waiting on travellers, has, 
 in my hands, enough to buy his freedom. But he is 
 free already, for that matter, and knows he can go 
 where he pleases." 
 
 " Pray," said I, " did you ever get a discount ? " 
 " A discount ! — what's that ? " said the Dutchman. 
 " Did you ever borrow money of a bank, and mort- 
 gage your land for it ? " 
 
90 LITERAEY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " No, no," said he, " I wasn't such a fool as that. 
 My poor neighbor, whose house you see over the river 
 yonder, with the windows broken and no smoke to 
 the chimney, played a trick of that kind ; but his farm 
 is soon to be sold at vendue, and I think of buying it. 
 His family were in great distress though we helped 
 them on a little to get to the back country, where, I 
 hear, they are doing pretty well again," 
 
 I will not trouble you with the moral of this story, 
 but conclude by bidding you beware of discounts. 
 
 Journeying along one day, apropos of things in 
 general he has his fling at " the universal Yankee 
 nation," in the shape of the following 
 
 CHARACTER OF BROTHER JONATHAN. 
 
 The truth is, that mine honest, sanguine, and heels- 
 over-head friend, brother Jonathan, is one of those 
 people who are for eating their cake and having their 
 cake, and reconciling all sorts of incongruities. He 
 is for doing things in a great hurry, and would be 
 free and hardy, with all the enervated refinements of 
 slavery. Not content with the enjoyments necessary 
 to happiness, and the essential characteristics of a 
 nation destined to mighty things, the foolish lad 
 would needs strut about in the gilded paraphernalia 
 of pictures, palaces, and statues, that serve to amuse 
 some nations into a forgetfulness of their chains. He 
 is continually flaring away in the awkward second- 
 hand finery of Europe, that gives him the appearance 
 of a servile imitator, instead of coming out in his' 
 honest homespun, to challenge the respect of the 
 world. The rogue often reminds me of a little, fat, 
 
BLUE-EIDGE SCENERY. • 91 
 
 greedy urchin, with an apple in each hand, and its 
 mouth full of gingerbread, whining and fretting, be- 
 cause it can't appropriate to itself at the same time 
 a pretty picture or lacquered image on the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 As our author himself observes, descriptions of 
 scenery are not apt to give the reader much idea 
 of the reality. I nevertheless bring up the rear of 
 my extracts with one of the many spirited sketches 
 of nature to be found in these volumes. It seems to 
 me to bring the scene forcibly before the mind's eye. 
 
 THE CAPHON ROCK. 
 
 From the summit of the highest point of this mass 
 of rocks, there is a clear view of the valley of Caphon, 
 or Cacapehon, as it is called in the maps. On the 
 right of this valley, at its western boundary, the 
 Potomac comes out from a break in the mountain, 
 crosses it at the foot of another, in a line almost as 
 straight as a canal, and loses itself again in the 
 mountains at the eastern extremity of, the valley. 
 To the south is seen the river Caphon, winding and 
 turning in every direction, so as to form the appear- 
 ance of several little green islands ; and at last, with 
 a sort of affected reluctance, joining its waters with 
 those of the Potomac, just before it breaks through 
 the eastern mountain. 
 
 The valley is surrounded, on aU sides, by high hUls, 
 beyond which, to the west, higher ones appear in 
 continued succession, paler and paler, until they are 
 lost in the heavens, by becoming confounded with 
 the blue sky. Houses were dispersed at solitary dis- 
 
92 LITERARY LIFE OP J, K. PAULDING. 
 
 taiices, whose ciirling smoke, as it rose out of the 
 trees, added to the peaceful character of the scene, 
 and divested it of that melancholy loneliness, which 
 affects us in contemplating those beautiful landscapes 
 which have never yet been appropriated by man. 
 After awhile, I descended the mountain to where the 
 two rivers form a junction, and forded them both, for 
 it was a very dry season, and the streams of this 
 country were very low. I could see along the banks 
 of the Potomac, where the logs were lodged, and in 
 the crotches of trees, sedge and branches deposited 
 by the waters, at least twenty-five feet above the 
 present level of the current. You can form no idea 
 how these mountain streams swell with the rains or 
 the melting of the snows ; or with what tremendous 
 force and velocity they roll and roar along at such 
 times. 
 
 In returning from the valley, I went to take a last 
 look from the rock. It was becoming cloudy, or 
 rather hazy, and little showers were falling in some 
 parts, while others were glowing in the sun. The 
 light and shade was disposed in endless variety, and 
 the general haze of the atmosphere softened the 
 objects appearing through its medium, as past scenes 
 are mellowed and endeared by the slight obscurity 
 thrown over them by the mists of memory. 
 
VII. 
 
 1818. [iET. 40.J 
 
 THE BACKWOODSMAN — LETTERS TO lEVINQ ABOUT — "cKOAKEK" ON — 
 HALLEOK ON — OUTLINE OF, AND EXTEACTS FEOM. 
 
 The first hint of our author's next publication, THE 
 BACKWOODSMAN, which was brought out in one vol- 
 ume by Moses Thomas, Philadelphia, in the summer 
 or autumn of 1818, I find in the letter to Irving of 
 April 5, 1818, previously quoted from : — 
 
 I have during the last winter employed as much of my 
 time as I durst, considering my health, in sketching a poem 
 which has been floating in my brain for years past, and have 
 nearly completed it. The story is that of one of the early 
 settlers on the Ohio, and the course of it enables me to sketch 
 the scenery of various parts of the country, as well as to 
 introduce the Indian character and manners. How it will 
 succeed, without turbans and Eastern costume, which are 
 used nowadays to disguise our old acquaintance, whom we 
 scarcely recognize in their new dress, I cannot say. At all 
 events it has given interest to a long winter, and kept me 
 from sinking into utter lassitude and indifference, and so far 
 it has not been written in vain. 
 
 The difficulty with this poetic effort is, that the 
 author did not start with a definite idea of the effect 
 he wanted to produce, or any due consideration of the 
 means of bringing it about. He says, indeed, in his 
 preface : " That the author may not be charged with 
 
 [93] 
 
94 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 having failed in what he did not attempt, it may be 
 as well, perhaps, to state the extent of the design of 
 the following poem. His object was to indicate to the 
 youthful writers of his native country, the rich poetic 
 resources with which it abounds, as weU as to call 
 their attention home, for the means of attaining to" 
 novelty of subject, if not to originality in style or sen- 
 timent. The story was merely assumed as affording 
 an easy and natural way of introducing a greater 
 variety of scenery, as weU as more diversity of situa- 
 tion." 
 
 But this, I think, is hardly admissible as an apology 
 for a total lack of any clear plot ; and he surely asked 
 too much of the pubUc when he went on to declare : 
 " Whether the writer shall ever attempt to complete 
 his original intention in the construction of a regular 
 plan, wiU principally depend on the reception given 
 to this experiment." 
 
 From a scheme so unpromising it may be divined 
 that nothing like a complete poem of thirty-three hun- 
 dred lines could be evolved. In fact there is no 
 attempt at any thing of the sort, the manipulation of 
 the work being incidentally illustrated in some lines 
 occurring in the Sixth and last book. He is speaking 
 of his " humble muse". 
 
 She loves to linger through the livelong day 
 Plucking each wild flower blooming on her way ; 
 To stop where'er she lists, and gaze around, 
 Where winding stream, or verdant vale, is found ; 
 Chase the wild butterfly on vagrant wing, 
 And haunt cool shades where merry warblers sing, 
 Wasting long luscious hours in doing nought, 
 ■^ Caught in the cobweb of some airy thought. 
 
 Perhaps it would not be unfair to apply the stronger 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 95 
 
 tenns which our author uses in reference to himself in 
 one of his " Letters from the South " : — " But I am 
 getting a bad habit of digressing in such a desperate 
 manner, that sometimes I have hard work to find what 
 I ought to be talking about. It seems with me as it 
 frtred with Achilles, of whom it was foretold, that if 
 he ever left his native home he would never return. 
 So, if I lose my subject, I seem fated never to light 
 on it again ; like the poor man in The Rambler, who 
 strayed about in search of flowers, tiU he could neither 
 find the place of his destination, nor that of his de- 
 parture." 
 
 Agaiii, Basil, the hero, is treated, not as an indi- 
 vidual character, but simply as a type of the Emi- 
 grant, and as exemplifying in a general way the 
 possible career of every such an one. To say truth, 
 the thread of the story is insufficient to hold to- 
 gether the sketches of scenery and developments of 
 opinion which make up almost the entire body of the 
 work. 
 
 As might have been expected, the poem was a fail- 
 ure. In a letter to Irving, January 20, 1820, Mr. 
 Paulding thus alludes to the fact. 
 
 My unfortunate poem has been over and over again at- 
 tacked by the combined powers of wit and dullness, the 
 former led by a wicked wag called Croaker, the latter by 
 our old friend H., who I believe can't forgive me for beating 
 him wiih his own weapons. Had I not been built of stub- 
 born oak, seasoned in the school of poverty, like an old 
 chimney-piece in a log house, I should sometimes have 
 scratched my head a little to find if I had any brains. As it 
 was, I consoled myself with the example of Milton, and ap- 
 pealed to posterity, which you know is like throwing a suit 
 
96 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 into the Court of Chancery, where, if the decision is made at 
 all, it is after the death of the parties, who are never the 
 worse off if it be against them. 
 
 The following paragraphs are interesting, as giving 
 his theory, or at least his excuse. 
 
 Should I ever write poetry again, which I think I shall 
 not do, (at least till my back is well again), I will certainly 
 take your advice, as to abstaining from jesting, and taking 
 time to revise and correct, although, to say the truth, it seems 
 to me that uniform sweetness and sentiment is tiresome at 
 last, and that a little occasional rugged carelessness is no 
 blemish, when taken into view as part of a whole. 
 
 Joseph Rodman Drake, subsequently author of 
 " The Culprit Fay", was the original " Croaker", and 
 thus, (to give a single example), he croaks over our 
 author, in the verses addressed " To John Minshull, 
 Esq., Poet and Playwright, who formerly resided in 
 Maiden-lane but now absent in England", published 
 in The Evening Post, March 18, 1819. 
 
 " But hail to thee Paulding, the pride of the Backwood! 
 
 The poet of cabbages, log huts, and gin, 
 God forbid thou should'st get in the clutches of Blackwood, 
 
 Oh Lord ! how the wits of Old England would grin : 
 In pathos — oh who could be flatter or funnier ? 
 
 Were ever descriptions more vulgar and tame ? 
 I wronged thee by Heaven ! when I said there were none here 
 
 Could cope with great Minshull, thou peer of his fame ! " 
 
 Fitz- Greene Halleck, (" Croaker Jr."), subsequently 
 returned to the charge in the better-known lines in 
 his poem of " Fanny", published in 1821. 
 
 " Homer was well enough ; but would he ever 
 
 Have written, think ye, the Backwoodsman ? never. 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 97 
 
 LXI. . 
 "Alas ! for Paulding — I regret to see 
 
 In such a stanza one whose giant powers, 
 Seen in their native element, will be 
 
 Known to a future age, the pride of ours. 
 There is none breathing who can better wield 
 The battle axe of satire. On its field 
 
 txii. 
 " The wreath he fought for he has bravely won. 
 Long be its laurel green around his brow ! 
 It is too true, I'm somewhat fond of fun 
 
 And jesting ; but for once I'm serious now. 
 Why is he sipping weak Castalian dews ? 
 The muse has damned him — let him damn the muse." 
 
 Despite this general keel-hauling, our author seems 
 to have had, at several periods, an idea of recasting 
 The Backwoodsman ; and, in pursuance of that pur- 
 pose, altered in many instances forms of expression, 
 and even entire pages. Unluckily he never attempted 
 to give it greater coherence. Still, from the trouble 
 he has taken in revising and almost rewriting it, I 
 conclude he was attached to this belabored progeny. 
 Indeed he says as much in 1852 : " The Backwoods- 
 man has always been a favorite work of mine." 
 
 The above statement will account for many devi- 
 ations from the printed poem in the extracts I am 
 about to make; for, with aU its shortcomings, there 
 occur pasages of genuine descriptive poetry, or origi- 
 nal outlooks on things, which need no apology for 
 being reproduced h^re. 
 
 The poem opens : — 
 
 My homely theme is of a hardy swain. 
 Among the lowliest of the lowly train, 
 Who left his native fields, afar to roam, 
 Through Western wilds, in search of happier home. 
 
 7 
 
98 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Simple the lore I venture to rehearse, 
 For unfledged is the Muse in flights of verse ; 
 Nor dares she wing her wild adventurous way 
 To that bright region of eternal day 
 Where dwell those awful greybeard bards sublime, 
 Victors o'er dark oblivion, death, and time ; 
 Yet, haply in the woodland path she treads, 
 Some nameless wild flowers still may lift their heads, 
 Unknown to those immortal men of yore. 
 And never twined in any wreath before. 
 For if there there be, as frolic Fancy tells. 
 Hid in the unsunned depths of rocky dells. 
 Or in dumb forests where the prying day 
 Even at noontide never groped its way, 
 An unseen sprite, that wakens latent fires. 
 Warms the strong heart and mighty thought inspires. 
 Where are there glens more apt for his lone seat, 
 Where denser shades, where springs more cool and sweet? 
 Where are there clearer streams and grander floods ? 
 Where broader prairies, where more massive woods ? 
 Where is the land beneath the vaulted sky 
 That ought to lift the mystic torch more high. 
 To light the genius into quenchless flame, 
 And give its bards more fair, enduring, fame ! 
 
 This fine introduction was in the original edition filled 
 by the following, very characteristic of the author's 
 mind and modes of thought. 
 
 Simple the tale I venture to rehearse. 
 
 For humble is the Muse, and weak her verse ; 
 
 She hazards not, to sing in lofty lays. 
 
 Of steel-clad knights, renowned in other days 
 
 For glorious feats, that in this dastard time 
 
 Would on the gaUows make them swing sublime ; 
 
 Or tell of stately dames of royal birth, 
 
 That scorned communion with dull things of earth. 
 
 With fairies leagued, and dwarfs of goblin race. 
 
 Of uncouth limb, and most unseemly face — 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 99 
 
 Tremendous wights ! that erst in nursery-" keep " 
 Were used to scare the froward babe to sleep. 
 
 But he goes on : — 
 
 Neglected Muse of this our Western clime, 
 How long in servile, imitative, rhyme, 
 Wilt thou thy stifled energies enchain. 
 And tread the worn-out path still o'er again ! 
 How long repress the brave decisive flight ! 
 How long be blind to all thy native light ! 
 
 To these lines I find affixed, on a fragment of manu- 
 script, this note : — "It should be recollected this was 
 written some twenty years ago, before Bryant, Per- 
 cival, Halleck, Drake, Brainerd, and others, had re- 
 deemed the land from this reproach." And again, 
 on another copy of the page : " It should be recol- 
 lected, this was written almost forty years ago." He 
 continues : — 
 
 Does not the story of our early days 
 
 Teem with the spirit of eternal lays ? 
 
 Can not those glorious exiles who first sought 
 
 The untracked forest world, and with them brought 
 
 Unconquered and unconquerable mind. 
 
 That cast no weak and wistful look behind, 
 
 Scorned every danger in their high career 
 
 And planted every future blessing here, 
 
 Prompt some undying genius to engage. 
 
 With all a poet's strong yet tempered rage. 
 
 Above their tombs that laurel wreath to wave 
 
 'Tis true they need not, and they still should have ? 
 
 Can grey tradition, or historic page. 
 
 Can every legend of each parted age, 
 
 Present a theme so fraught with patriot fire, 
 
 The dull to stir, the eager to inspire. 
 
 As that immortal struggle which here gave 
 
 To Freedom life, to Tyranny a grave ? 
 
 Does Greece or Rome display a nobler field, 
 
 Or any nation's utmost records yield 
 
100 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 A richer harvest, than our native land, 
 To him who'd reap it with a master's hand ? 
 Or Nature in lier generous zeal bestow 
 More splendid scenes to make his bosom glow. 
 Than here with mild exuberance she strews, 
 To rouse the dozing spirit of the Muse ? 
 
 The Past, the Present, Future, all combine 
 To waken inspiration in each line ; 
 And yet we turn to Europe's old Rag-fair, 
 To deck ourselves in cast-off finery there. 
 And, like the wretched prodigal of old 
 Whose plaintive story is in Scripture told, 
 The plenty of our Father's house resign. 
 To starve on offal, and to herd with swine. 
 
 This terrible onslaught I fancy due to my lord Bjn-on, 
 for whom and whose school our author cherished a 
 profound disgust. Perhaps the prevalence of " Yellow 
 covers " had a hand in it : for it is possible that era 
 was upon'us when these lines were written. 
 His poetic fury now takes a prophetic turn : — 
 
 Thrice fortunate who first shall wake the lyre 
 
 With home-bred feeling and with home-bred fire ; 
 
 He need not envy any foreign bard 
 
 Whom fame's bright meed, or fortune's smiles, reward. 
 
 Secure, that wheresoe'er this empire rolls, 
 
 Over the West, or toward the firm-fixed poles. 
 
 While, haply, Europe's honors fade away 
 
 And set the glories of her better day, 
 
 Unnumbered millions shall his words rehearse. 
 
 And love the author of the happy verse. 
 
 BasU, the hero of the poem, is now introduced. A 
 child of the Hudson, married on faith, he is obliged 
 to labor day in and day out on another man's land, to 
 support his family; but his spirit of independence 
 revolts against the prospect of working always as a 
 hired man. 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 101 
 
 Hence comes it that our poorest barefoot boy 
 Aspires to taste the proud and manly joy 
 That springs from holding in his own dear right 
 The soil he tills, the home he seeks at night. 
 For this he leaves his friends and youthful home 
 'Mid forest wilds and Indian haunts to roam. 
 Wide sweeps his axe, his rifle is at hand. 
 And lo !, he soons subdues a savage land. 
 Then as the waving harvest field he sees, 
 Like sunny ocean, rippling in the breeze, 
 And hears the lowing herd, the lambkin's bleat. 
 And snufis the fragrance of the clover sweet. 
 His heart sits lightly on its rustic throne — 
 The flocks, the fields, the hearth-stone, all his own. 
 
 But there is no such luck for Basil at present. On 
 the contrary, year by year, his family, his toils, his 
 anxieties, increase. A severe winter brings on him 
 the climax of misery in an attack of rheumatism 
 which lays him helpless on his bed. He does not die, 
 however, but suffers throughout the dreary season, 
 with what distress of body and mind may be ima- 
 gined, as he finds himself absolutely thrown on the 
 charity of his not over-wealthy neighbors for the sus- 
 tenance of his family. But the months pass; and 
 spring arrives: and with her presence the author's 
 imagination is warmed, and he breaks out: — 
 
 Who can resist the coaxing voice of Spring, 
 When flowers peep forth, and feathered minstrels sing ? 
 Who that inhales her breath in fields or groves, 
 But thinks of the sweet lips of her he loves ? 
 Who that partakes of her life-giving smile. 
 But dreams of her he loves the best the while ? 
 If there be one amid her wealth can rove, 
 And feel no thrill of joy, no stir of love. 
 He is no honest son of mother Earth, 
 And shames the holy dame that gave him birth. 
 
102 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 We are her children, and when forth she hies. 
 Dressed in her wedding suit of varied dyes, 
 Beshrew the churl tliat does not feel her charms, 
 And long to nestle in her blooming arms ; 
 He has no heart, or such a heart as I 
 Would not possess for all beneath the sky. 
 Oh ! thus to sit upon the clovered brow 
 Of some full-bosomed hill as I do now. 
 And see the river wind its silvery way 
 Round jutting points with Spring's new verdure gay. 
 Its flowing waters flashing to its brim, 
 AVhile flocks of little barks its surface skim 
 This way and that as wayward zephyrs blow. 
 Like buoyant swans, all white as virgin snow ; 
 And hear, yet scarcely hear, the distant wave 
 The pebbled shore or rocky margin lave, 
 While over all the sun's last splendid rays 
 Gild the glad fields and make the forest blaze — 
 Gives me more pleasure than would all the spoils 
 Ambition ever gained with all her toils. 
 
 Then, as I watch the slow-retiring day 
 Stealing in shadows silently away. 
 While other suns of paler face arise, 
 Trembling and sparkling in the nightly skies, 
 I think, so when the Sun of Righteousness 
 No more with his bright beams the world could bless. 
 He did not doom the earth in darkness drear 
 To mourn the close of his sublime career, 
 But left the apostolic band behind 
 With borrowed lustre still to bless mankind. 
 
 I love to revel in soft solitude. 
 And call around me Memory's phantom brood, 
 By turning to the folded leaf, to look 
 For some old record in Time's sacred book 
 That brings to mind a train of gentle themes. 
 Dear, blameless, joys, and early-cherished dreams, 
 And happy hours I never can forget, 
 Barbed with no pang of sorrow or regret — 
 Airy memorials that brighter seem 
 Contrasted with the mist through which they gleam. 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 103 
 
 E'en as the splendors of departing day 
 Amid the Western skies in flashes play, 
 Reflected in the clouds when day is past, 
 Each varying tint still lovelier than the last. 
 
 Is it not wise to thrust this world aside, 
 And for a while in fancy's realm abide ; 
 To chase some nimble tenant of the brain, 
 Some bright associate of the starry train, 
 And dream such ecstacies we needs must sigh, 
 When, at our waking, swift the raptures fly ? 
 If mortals find not happiness in this. 
 Where shall they seek the bower of earthly bliss ? 
 
 With spring Basil revives; but, though health re- 
 turns, his anxieties for the future are not lessened, 
 and he broods continually over his prospects. In this 
 condition of mind, he hears rumors of the great West. 
 Tales reach him of the cheapness and fertility of its 
 soil ; of the opening for enterprise there. His imagina- 
 tion is excited by the idea of this wonderful land : — 
 
 As rich as ever glowed beneath the sun ; 
 As wide as mad ambition ever won ; 
 As fair as ever tempted man to stray 
 From childhood's haunts unto the far-away ; 
 Where miles on miles of grassy meads abound, 
 And endless streams pursue their endless round ; 
 Where Nature all her youthful might puts forth 
 To make for man a still more glorious earth. 
 
 He sets himself to persuade his wife into the scheme 
 of emigration, and with success. They make their 
 preparations ; secure a sturdy nag ; pack their small 
 stock of household goods in a little covered wagon; 
 and are equal to any fortune. Of course there are 
 some who blow cold on the undertaking, and tell 
 dreadful stories to alarm the adventurers. But Basil 
 remains firm. 
 
104 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 He shook their outstretched hands, and bade them pray 
 That Heaven would speed him on his lonely way ; 
 Then sought the aged tree beneath whose shade 
 Father and mother side by side were laid, 
 Bent o'er the grassy mounds that marked the spot 
 Haply by all but him long since forgot. 
 And prayed to live a life of honest fame, 
 And leave behind, like them, a spotless name. 
 
 This brings us to the end of Book the First. Book 
 the Second finds the house closed, the emigrants upon 
 the road. They start on a foggy morning, which how- 
 ever soon clears, just as they mount a rise from which 
 they have a last view of their deserted home on one 
 side, and a burst of landscape on the other. Any 
 one familiar with the Highlands of the Hudson should 
 be struck with the photographic correctness of this 
 picture. Cultivation has altered the scene a little, 
 but not materially. 
 
 In truth it was a landscape wildly gay 
 Before his pensive vision smiling lay — 
 A sea of rolling hills with forests crowned. 
 Whose green clothed every height for leagues around, 
 Save where some grey-beard cliff uproared its head 
 As if just rising from a leafy bed. 
 By its bald brow, which unwinged steps ne'er pressed, 
 Our native eagle builds his rugged nest ; 
 Oft in the warfare of the whistling gales, 
 Amid the scampering clouds serenely sails. 
 With scarce a motion wins the loftiest sky. 
 And looks into the sun with steadfast eye. 
 Lonely and lofty, through the unmapped skies 
 With steady sweep his royal wings he plies, 
 Gaining new strength from every effort made, 
 By others feared, of nought on earth afraid. 
 Prophetic emblem of this giant sphere. 
 This cradled King of Kings, be his career ! 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 105 
 
 Through these great hills in groups of grandeur piled 
 Majestic Hudson wound his way, and smiled ; 
 And, as he swept each ridge's tide-worn base, 
 In the pure mirror of his morning face 
 A lovelier landscape caught the gazer's view. 
 Softer than Nature, yet to Nature true. 
 Beyond, on either side the river's bound. 
 Two lofty promontories darkly frowned. 
 Through which in times long past, as learned ones say. 
 The pent-up waters forced their wilful way ; 
 Grimly they frowned, as menacing the wave 
 That stormed their bulwarks with its current brave. 
 And seemed to threaten from each battered brow 
 To crush the sloops that lay becalmed below, 
 Whose white sails, hanging idly at the mast, 
 In the still tide a deep reflexion cast. 
 The stately flood, like conqueror on his way 
 Through sullen realms subjected to his sway. 
 Smiled as in scorn of those he erst subdued. 
 The ragged cliff, proud hiU, and barrier rude, 
 That now like quailing vassals stood aside, 
 And gave free passage to th' imperial tide ; 
 While still beyond, half hazy to the eye, 
 The far-off Katskills kissed the farthest sky, 
 Mingled with that their waving line of blue. 
 And shut the world beyond from mortal view. 
 
 Tearing themselves from this prospect, they are fairly 
 on their way, and presently we find them in " Jersey's 
 pleasant land." Passing through Pennsylvania, they 
 reach the summit of the Alleghanies. 
 
 Here, seated where the first and last bright ray 
 Of morn and evening on his forehead play. 
 By brightest omens of the future blessed, 
 Resides the genius of the growing West. 
 Throned halfway to the vast etherial skies, 
 His glorious inheritance he eyes, 
 
106 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Watches with equal care each sister state, 
 Holds fast the old, and clasps each new-born mate, 
 And joys, from every jealous feeling free, 
 In ALL the land's combined prosperity. 
 
 The emigrants had encamped upon the crest of the 
 mountains. 
 
 Our Basil beat the lazy sun next day. 
 And bright and early had been on his way. 
 But that the world he saw e'en yesternight 
 Had faded, like a vision, from his sight. 
 One endless chaos spread before his eyes, 
 No vestige left of earth or of the skies ; 
 A boundless nothingness reigned all around, 
 Unbroken by a movement or a sound. 
 As stark he stared upon the blank below. 
 The lively morning breeze began to blow. 
 The magic curtain swayed, was moved, was torn. 
 And bits of landscape danced into the morn. 
 As the light flecks of vapor were upreared 
 t And off into the boundless ether steered, 
 A novel charm each passing instant brought. 
 As ever-varying forms his vision caught : 
 A dripping precipice, a solemn wood, 
 A deep-scored dell, a foaming mountain flood. 
 Each after each, with coy and cool delay, 
 Yielded itself to sight's alluring sway. 
 So when the wandering grandsire of our race 
 On Ararat had found a resting place. 
 At first a shoreless ocean weltered round. 
 With not a sign, save where he stood, of ground ; 
 But, as the waters day by day drew back 
 Into the confines of their former track. 
 Gradual, the lofty hills, like islands, crept 
 Out of the waste, and into sunshine stepped ; 
 Then the green hillocks and the meadows bright 
 Greeted in turn the patriarch's longing sight ; 
 Until, at length, with all its parts complete, 
 Appeared the earth again in order meet. 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 107 
 
 Yet oft lie looked, I woen, with anxious eye, 
 In lingering hope somewhere, perchance, to spy 
 Amid the silent scene some living thing 
 Crawling the earth, or moving on the wing. 
 But neither man nor beast nor bird was there ; 
 Nothing that breathed of life on earth, in air. 
 'Twas a vast mansion tenantless and drear ; 
 A garden, like a churchyard, void of cheer. 
 Sadly he turned from the oppressive waste, 
 And, with a heavy heart, he Westward faced. 
 
 Descending the mountains, our travellers, after nar- 
 rowly escaping from a freshet, in course of time reach 
 the Ohio. Here the close of the Second Book leaves 
 them. The introduction to Book the Third insists on 
 what may be called the theory or moral of the poem 
 — independence, or more properly, self-dependence, 
 of character. This is illustrated by the fact that 
 Basil, who has anticipated years of absolute solitude 
 in the wilds, encounters others bound on the same 
 errand as himself. They join forces, and presently 
 are found at the point of embarkation, Pittsburg, sur- 
 rounded by the idlers of the neighborhood, who have 
 collected to see them off. 
 
 A common, simple, scene ! Yet view it well — 
 'Twill soon to grander outlines haply swell ; 
 For here, as on a chart engraved, we see 
 Our people's fated course, and destiny. 
 So came our fathers Westward — volunteers. 
 Who left behind them doubts, and fronted fears ; 
 Thus did they sever every early tie 
 To win the meed they sought, or failing, die ; 
 And thus their hardy offspring still go on, 
 Doing as their progenitors have done — 
 Waking to life the dreary solitude. 
 Planting refinement in the forest rude, 
 Nor pausing in the glorious race they run 
 Toward where the ocean bathes the setting sun. 
 
108 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 The emigrante, now nearing their goal, dare not land 
 at close of day, for fear of Indians. 
 
 So through the livelong night they floated, slow, 
 And Night was gentle as the river's flow. 
 So still, so bright, so tranquil was her reign. 
 They scarcel}' cared that day should come again. 
 The moon, high wheeled the distant hills above, 
 Silvered the fleecy foliage of the grove. 
 That, as the wooing Zephyr on it stole. 
 Sighed out the greeting of its sylvan soul. 
 The queen of night sailed on with face unblurred ; 
 The sleepy leaves no more in rapture stirred ; 
 No deep-mouthed hound the hunter's haunt betrayed ; 
 No light along the shore or waters played ; 
 No laugh intruded on the drowsy ear. 
 Nor yet a sound of grief, nor yet of fear. 
 All, all was still on gliding barque and shore. 
 As if the Qarth had slept, to wake no more. 
 
 A voyage of three days and nights brings them to 
 their destination. They break up their boats to form 
 a temporary shelter, and begin on the business of a 
 settlement. Amid their various labors they do not 
 forget the worship of the Almighty, gathering upon 
 every Sabbath for prayer and the singing of hymns in 
 the open air. Though our emigrants do their best, 
 and hurry to the utmost, the course of the seasons 
 falters not. Summer wanes; the fall of the year 
 approaches : — 
 
 The palsied aspen reared its yellow head ; 
 The maple motley, and the oak its red ; 
 While here and there, the gaudy ranks between, 
 Towered a tall and sombre evergreen ; 
 
 And then the dappled cloak of Autumn fell, 
 
 And Winter roared through wood and winding dell. 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 109 
 
 Silent the river's soothing murmurs were, 
 And still the myriads of the peopled air ; 
 The trees no more their whispered music played, 
 But howling blasts the shrinking ear dismayed ; 
 Or if, at times, the season's iey breath 
 Died to a calm, it seemed the calm of death. 
 
 Apprehensive still more at this season, (like all frontier 
 settlers from the beginning of our history), of attack 
 by the Indians, they, at first, occasionally mistake at 
 night the howl of the wolf for the war-whoop. But 
 habit soon steels them against alarms. The occupa- 
 tions of the winter are indicated: Basil employs his 
 leisure hours in imparting to his children the rudi- 
 ments of education he had acquired at the road-side 
 school, and in the evening, by the blazing hearth, ex- 
 patiates on the Revolutionary men and times. Among 
 the memorable characters we may be sure that the 
 foremost, Washington, is not forgotten. But Basil 
 does not confine his legends to the world-known of 
 that era. He tells of the nameless men whom History 
 ignores — how they left their homes, urged to the 
 battle field not by the desire of fame but the senti- 
 ment of patriotism ; how they suffered aU manner of 
 peril and hardship, cheerfully, constantly, and with a 
 fidelity to their cause as conspicuous as their cour- 
 age and endurance; how some came home at last, 
 broken and crippled; and how some never came 
 home at all. 
 
 Sometimes Basil and his family anticipate the 
 pleasure of revisiting the old home, and telling their 
 adventures to an admiring neighborhood. But years 
 elapse while they discuss the scheme, the wUderness 
 fills up, old acquaintances join them, and lo !, a world 
 very Uke that of memory. The village flourishes ; the 
 
110 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 inhabitants wax rich; the children grow up, brave, 
 active, healthy, hearty, independent. What they miss 
 the following lines declare : — 
 
 'Tis true — yet 'tis no pity that 'tis true — 
 Many fine things they neither felt nor knew. 
 Unlike the sons of Europe's happier clime, 
 They never died to music's melting chime, 
 Or groaned, as if in agonizing pain. 
 At some enervate, whining, sickly strain ; 
 Nor would they sell their heritage of rights 
 For long processions, pomps, and pretty sights, 
 Or barter for a bauble, or a feast, 
 All that distinguishes the man from beast. 
 With them, alas ! the fairest masterpiece 
 Of plundered Italy, or rifled Greece, 
 A chiselled wonder, miracle of paint, 
 A marble god-head, or a canvas saint. 
 Were poor amends for cities wrapped in flame, 
 A ruined land, and a dishonored name ; 
 Nor would they mourn Apollo's exile more 
 Than Freedom turning downcast from their door. 
 Among them was no drivelling princely race 
 Who'd beggar half a state to buy a vase. 
 Or starve a province haply, to reclaim 
 From mother earth a lump without a name, 
 Some mutilated trunk decayed and worn, 
 Of head bereft, of arms and ankles shorn. 
 And fit for nought save puzzling learned brains. 
 And causing worlds of most laborious pains. 
 To guess if this same headless, limbless thing, 
 Were worthless demi-god or worthless king. 
 
 In Book the Fourth we have premonitions of war, 
 and an Indian prophet appears upon the scene. 
 
 Far in a dismal glen whose deep recess 
 The sun could never penetrate to bless, 
 Beside a lone and melancholy stream 
 That never sparkled in the moon's pale beam, 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. Ill 
 
 Remote from all his copper-colored race, 
 
 A moody Indian made his biding place ; 
 
 Here 'mid green carpets of perennial moss. 
 
 And solemn pines, that locked their arms across 
 
 Great sluggish pools, and with their gloomy shade 
 
 In brightest noon a dusky twilight made. 
 
 With hurrying steps, like maniac oft he trod, 
 
 And cursed the white-man, and the white-man's God. 
 
 Once the proud painted chief of warriors brave. 
 
 Whose bones now bleaching lay, without a grave, 
 
 A thousand red-men owned his savage sway. 
 
 Followed where'er he chose to lead the way, 
 
 Ranged the wide wilderness for many a mile. 
 
 And hailed him lord of cruelty and wile. 
 
 Now, like a girdled tree, discrowned he stood, 
 
 The only relic of a stately wood; 
 
 The last man of his tribe, he lived alone. 
 
 His name, his being, and his haunts, unknown. 
 
 Brooding over his people's wrongs, half madman 
 half impostor, he presently begins to preach a crusade 
 against the whites. Rambling from tribe to tribe, 
 and discoursing with the phrenzied eloquence of a 
 monomaniac, no wonder that he makes a deep im- 
 pression on a race 
 
 Whose mind was like the forest that he roved. 
 Dark, gloomy, rayless, rugged, unimproved. 
 
 He is joined by a chief who uses him to forward 
 designs of his own, and together they excite the pas- 
 sions of the tribes to the utmost. With a war-dance 
 the Book closes. 
 
 Book the Fifth is devoted to the preparations of 
 the Indians for war, and also brings to light a certain 
 renegade white who is associated with their plans. 
 We have this brief sketch of an Indian march : — 
 
112 LITEEART LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Now through the irksome forest's twilight gloom. 
 Where bees ne'er hum, or honeyed flowrets bloom, 
 By paths unmarked by all but Indian eyes. 
 By nameless streams in nameless wilds that rise. 
 Whose banks ne'er echoed to the fowler's gun. 
 Whose wave was never cheered by Summer sun, 
 With silent haste and quick elastic tread. 
 By day and night they on their errand sped, 
 While the light footsteps of that wily race 
 Scarce left behind distinguishable trace. 
 
 The prophet, preceding the main body, makes a re- 
 connoissance to the vicinity of Basil's village. In 
 the outskirts of the settlement he encounters a mis- 
 sionary to the Indian tribes. With him the prophet, 
 considering that he is "physically incompetent to fight, 
 enters into a discussion, in the course of which he 
 forcibly illustrates his own unhappy fate ; but his 
 wrath declines at length into prophetic sorrow, as he 
 anticipates the day when the bones of his people shall 
 be dug up — 
 
 To tell that there a gallant race of yore 
 
 Trod the free earth, but ne'er shall tread it more. 
 
 And SO he vanishes. 
 
 Book the Sixth brings the threatened invasion. 
 War with Great Britain sets in. Rumors thicken: 
 more particularly, that the Indians are on the war- 
 path, and committing all manner of atrocities. The 
 people run to arms, and we have the undisciphned 
 volunteers of the country assembled. Our author 
 now observes that it is easy for a man conspicuous 
 in the view of the world to risk all for reputation; 
 but that in reality the men who never expect to be 
 heard of, and sacrifice themselves for a sentiment or a 
 principle, deserve more credit. 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 113 
 
 These are the warriors that my homely muse 
 For heroes of her lowly tale would choose, 
 And haply if this rough, unpolished, lay. 
 To future times could hope to find its way. 
 Gladly would I, with an immortal pen. 
 Record the glories of the nameless men. 
 
 Following out this train of thought, he celebrates 
 The People as the sole dependence of a State in a 
 great emergency. 
 
 Is it a fable — that in ancient time 
 The hardy Goths forsook their wintry clime, 
 Lured by the hope of plunder, or beguiled 
 By the fair fields in Italy that smiled, 
 And, like the locust flight that dusks the day, 
 O'erran the land with famine and dismay — 
 Is it a fable — that while lordly pride 
 Stood helplessly to view the carnage wide. 
 Or skulked away to some secure retreat. 
 Afraid the fierce barbarian horde to meet. 
 Or dirty refuge in its treasons sought. 
 And with its country its own safety bought, 
 The only men that strove against the flood 
 Were men without a drop of noble blood ? 
 Probus for one, and Claudius truly brave. 
 And Diocletian, offspring of a slave ! 
 These propped the falling empire of the world, 
 And bloody vengeance on the plunderer hurled ; 
 Nor fell she quite, while peasants ruled in Rome : 
 'Twas the blood royal brought the ruin home. 
 
 Is it a fable — that in later day 
 When hosts of veterans were swept away, 
 And the proud phantom of this trembling earth 
 Played with the chains of kings as if in mirth, 
 The peasant's, and the peasant's arm alone. 
 Upheld the hopes of every tottering throne P 
 Is it a fable — that the landwehr rose, 
 A wall of hearts, his progress to oppose ? 
 8 
 
114 LITERAEY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Is it a fable — that the Spaniard brought 
 A spirit to the cause for which he fought, 
 That could, and did, the lord of Europe foil. 
 Because he battled for his native soil ? 
 
 No power on earth a country can subdue, 
 When a whole People to themselves are true ; 
 It may o'errun, may crimson it with slain, 
 May spoil its fields, but never can retain. 
 
 "We now have the march, and the battle, the back- 
 woodsmen remaining victors on the field. Having 
 fulfilled the last duties to the dead, and rescued the 
 frontier from fears of Indian depredation, they hasten 
 home. Here we are reminded for a moment of one 
 who has been for a long while kept in the back- 
 ground, namely Basil, who is presented in a green 
 old age, enjoying all the rewards of a well-spent life. 
 The whole country likewise is prosperous. 
 
 Again Peace showered her blessings o'er the land, 
 And Happiness and Freedom, hand in hand, 
 Went gayly 'round and knocked at every door. 
 Hailing the rich, and biding with the poor, 
 While wondering nations watched our bright career. 
 And looked, and longed to seek a refuge here 
 From all the countless pack of galling ills 
 That slaves still suffer when the tyrant wills. 
 And oh !, be such thy ever-during fate, 
 My native land !, still to be free as great ! 
 Still to be dear to nations — doubly dear — 
 The people's hope, the tyrant's lasting fear ; 
 Still to be cherished by the good and brave ; 
 Still to be hated by the dastard slave 
 That turns in sickening envy from thy face, 
 The mirror that reflects his deep disgrace ; 
 Still to be feared for thy far-beckoning smiles. 
 Alluring emigrants in countless files ; 
 Still to be loved by all who joy to see 
 The race of man live happy, great, and free. 
 
THE BACKWOODSMAN. 115 
 
 The following apostrophe closes the poem. 
 
 Yes ! lone and spotless virgin of the West, 
 No tyrant pillows on thy swelling breast ; 
 Thou bow'st before no despot's guilty throne, 
 But at God's footstool, and at His alone ! 
 Genius of Freedom !, may the future raise 
 Chorus on chorus, hymning to thy praise ! 
 Do thou the nations of the earth inspire 
 With the deep glow of thy celestial fire ; 
 Teach them a sober way to break their chains ; 
 Wipe from thy sacred brow those bloody stains 
 That hasty zealots sprinkled madly there. 
 And show thyself to them, as pure as fair ! 
 Then may those nations freed fresh chaplets bring, 
 And to their Western sister praises sing — 
 Thy FIRST-BORN still, however bom the rest. 
 The dearest still to thy maternal breast ! 
 
VIII. 
 
 1818-1819. [Ml. 40-41.] 
 
 MARRIAGE -:-SECOKD SERIES OF SALMAGONDI — EVERT A. DUTCKINCK 
 OM — LETTER TO IRVING ABOUT — ALLUSION TO, IN " FANNY " — LET- 
 TER FROM IRVING — A WARNING TO BIOGRAPHERS — THE CHURCH- 
 YARD. 
 
 On the 15th of November, 1818, Mr. Paulding 
 married Gertrude, daughter of Peter Kemble, a re- 
 tired merchant of New- York, and sister of his friend 
 Gouverneur Kemble. Of this connexion it is enough 
 to say, once for all, that he was as fortunate in the 
 choice of a wife as he declares himself to have been 
 in the character of his mother. 
 
 In 1819 our author made a hazardous experi- 
 ment — the attempt to renew an eccentric success, 
 in a SECOND SERIES OF SALMAGUNDI. The first num- 
 ber was issued by Moses Thomas, May 30, 1819 ; the 
 concluding one, August 19, 1820. 
 
 In a preface to the latest edition of the first series, 
 Mr. Evert A. Duyckinck says : " Some ten years or 
 more after the conclusion of Salmagundi, Paulding 
 ventured alone upon a second series. Washington 
 Irving was in Europe, and the muse of Pindar Cock- 
 loft was silent. It was a dangerous undertaking, for 
 the very essence of a Salmagundi is the combination 
 of divers ingredients — a product of many minds. . . . 
 Yet it contains many delightful pages." 
 
 It does not on the whole, however, compare favora- 
 [116] 
 
SALMAGUNDI — SECOND SERIES. 117 
 
 bly. We miss that light and audacious gayety which 
 makes up . so much of the charm of the first series. 
 The Indian Chief is but an indifferent substitute for 
 Mustapha Rub-a-dub Keli Khan, and Will Wizard 
 and Anthony Evergi'een leave too much of the bur- 
 den of the scheme on the shoulders of their old asso- 
 ciate, Launcelot Langstaff. But there are fine papers 
 in it, and the Cockloft characters are reinspired in a 
 much more fortmiate manner than might have been 
 expected, considering, as Mr. Irving remarks, that they 
 " had grown to a very troublesome old age during the 
 interval." Very likely some of these articles were 
 conceived, and perhaps sketched, before the first series 
 was so summarily " bitten off." 
 
 In a letter to Irving, of January 20, 1820, the same 
 in which " The Backwoodsman " is referred to, Mr. 
 Paulding writes in reference to the publication we are 
 considering : — 
 
 I must now make two or three explanations concerning 
 myself, and proceedings. Hearing last winter from Wm. 
 Irving that you had finally declined coming home, and find- 
 ing my leisure time a little heavy, I set to work, and pre- 
 pared several numbers of a continuation of our old joint 
 production. At that time, and subsequently, until GouvT 
 Kemble brought your first number [of The Sketch-Book] 
 down to Washington with him, I was entirely ignorant 
 that you contemplated any thing of the kind. But for an 
 accidental delay, my first No. would have got the start of 
 yours. As it happened however, it had the appearance 
 of taking the field against you, a thing which neither my 
 head nor heart will sanction. I believe my work has not 
 done you any harm in the way of rivalship, for it has been 
 soundly abused by many persons, and compared with the 
 first part with many degrading expressions. It has sold tol- 
 
118 LITEHART LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 erably, but I shall discontinue it shortly, as I begin to grow 
 tired, and I believe the public has got the start of me. It 
 was owing to Moses that I did not commence an entire new 
 work. 
 
 It must have had a certain run of fashion, as I 
 gather from a stanza of "Fanny", where Halleck 
 speaks of his heroine's tastes: — 
 
 "And though by no means a bos bleu, she had 
 
 For literature a most becoming passion ; 
 Had skimmed the latest novels, good and bad, 
 
 And read the Croakers, when they were in fashion ; 
 And Doctor Chalmers' sermons, of a Sunday ; 
 And Woodsworth's Cabinet, and the new Salmagundi." 
 
 Mr. Paulding's letter continues : — 
 
 In reading over your last edition of Knickerbocker, after 
 some years during which I had not looked into it, I was 
 struck with several enormous plagiarisms I had unconsciously 
 committed upon you. The public may not, but you who 
 know me I hope wUl, give me credit when I assure you I 
 was not aware of the offence. Indeed my memory is of that 
 vague kind, that half the time I can't distinguish between 
 my own ideas and those I have got from books. These I 
 believe are all the sins I can at present charge myself with 
 on the score of apparent rivalry, or plagiarism, against my 
 old Mend. 
 
 I thank you for your kind and affectionate wishes and 
 remembrances. I need not teU you that Gertrude makes 
 such a wife as she made a sister and daughter, and that I feel 
 and know her value. We are now living in decent compe- 
 tency in one of The Seven Buildings, a present from Mr. 
 Kemble, and as yet I have managed to keep the wolf from 
 
LETTER TO IBVING. 119 
 
 the door, as well as to escape the curse, of Heaven — servility 
 to the great ones about me. 
 
 The Seven Buildings, of which perhaps the reader 
 might get a magnificent impression from the sound- 
 ing title, were a row of small three-story brick houses 
 on Pennsylvania Avenue, not far from the Presiden- 
 tial mansion. I again quote from the letter : — 
 
 The only man I ever yet envied was yourself, and when I 
 tell you this, in God's name let us hear no more complaints 
 on the score of fortune and future prospects. With youth, 
 health, talents, and reputation — with all the noble means of 
 pursuing noble ends still within your power, let me entreat 
 you to contemplate yourself and future fortunes through a 
 brighter medium. I am not good at preaching, but I wish 
 you would let me hear from you now and then, for almost 
 everybody I meet asks me about you, and I am ashamed' to 
 confess my ignorance. It looks as if we were no longer 
 friends. 
 
 If I were not afraid of being even with you by exciting 
 your envy, I would tell you what a pretty boy is sitting in 
 his mother's lap just before me, who I dare swear is a fine 
 fellow, though I am his father. Gertrude desires to be 
 affectionately remembered to you, and thinks with me you 
 had better come home. Remember me to my old friend the 
 Doctor, [Peter Irving] under whose auspices I made my first 
 campaign, quill in hand, in the Morning Chronicle. Would 
 to God you were both here, and settled around us, for I want 
 nothing that I know of, so much as a little circle of old friends, 
 to talk of old times with. 
 
 Farewell, and believe me your friend, 
 
 J. K. Paulding. 
 
 The answer to the above, dated London, May 27th, 
 1820, is one of three letters, all that have been pre- 
 
120 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 served of this side of the correspondence, I give a 
 couple of extracts. 
 
 " You have taken the trouble to make some explanations 
 as to your literary concerns which were quite unnecessary. 
 I have no idea of rivalship or competition in our writings, 
 and never could have suspected you of any thing of the kind. 
 I have no feeling toward you than that of the old fellowship 
 of the pen with which we started together, heaven knows how 
 carelessly and vagrantly ; and am only solicitous that you 
 should maintain your stand in Literature." 
 
 " And now, my dear James, with a full heart I take my 
 leave of you. Let me hear from you just when it is con- 
 venient; no matter how long or how short the letter, nor 
 think any apologies necessary for delays, only let me hear 
 from you. I may suffer time to elapse myself, being unset- 
 tled, and often perplexed and occupied ; but believe me 
 always the same in my feelings, however irregular in my 
 conduct, and that no new acquaintances that a traveller 
 makes in his casual sojoumings are apt to wear out the 
 recollections of his early friends. Give my love to Gertrude, 
 who I have no doubt is a perfect pattern for wives, and when 
 your boy grows large enough to understand tough stories, teU 
 him some of our early frolics, that he may have some kind 
 of an acquaintance with me against we meet. 
 
 Affectionately your friend, 
 
 W. Irving." 
 
 What the particulEir imitations were, into which our 
 author had been betrayed by his fallacious memory, 
 he does not mention. Perhaps the first one of the 
 Letters from the South is a case. 
 
 But I revert to the Second Series of Salmagundi. 
 The introduction closes with this graceful allusion to 
 one of his coadjutors in the First. 
 
SALMAGUNDI — SECOND SERIES. 121 
 
 " The reader will not fail of hearing, in good time, 
 all about the worthy Cockloft family; the learned 
 Jeremy, and the young ladies, who are still young 
 in spite of the lapse of ten years and more. Above 
 a dozen years are past since we first introduced these 
 excellent souls to our readers, and in that time many 
 a gentle tie has been broken, and many friends sep- 
 arated, some of them for ever. Among those we 
 most loved and admired, we have to regret the long 
 absence of one, who was aye the delight of his friends ; 
 and who, if he were with us, would add such charms 
 of wit and gayety to this little work, that the young 
 and the aged would pore over it with equal delight." 
 
 Mr. Paulding had a profound contempt for those 
 ante-mortem biographies intended to make somebodies 
 out of nobodies. To a friend who had inquired of 
 himself about himself he wrote in 1852 : — 
 
 " That my literary and personal history is not more 
 generally known, is partly owing to my never having 
 been what may be called a fashionable writer, and 
 partly to my own somewhat peculiar notions, or per- 
 haps I may say peculiar disposition. . . . and though 
 frequently applied to for information on this subject, 
 with a view to its publication, [I] have always de- 
 clined, either because I did not deem it worth com- 
 municating, or from an opinion I have always 
 entertained, that publishing a man's life before his 
 death was little better than a fraud on Posterity, by 
 attempting to forestall its decision." 
 
 He hits off this foible of our people in the ensuing 
 paper, which may be styled 
 
122 LITERAET LIFE OP J. K, PAULDXNG. 
 
 A WARNING TO BIOGRAPHERS. 
 
 I insert the following letter for no other reason 
 whatever, than because it exactly makes up the pages 
 requisite to complete this number, a matter which our 
 publisher has most especially at heart, as his sagacious 
 brethren generally buy books by the square foot, as I 
 am informed. 
 
 to launcelot langstapp, esq. 
 "Sir, 
 
 " I AM induced to address this communication to 
 your Elbow Chair, rather with a view to relieve my- 
 self by complaining, and warn others from following 
 my example, than in the hope that your advice or 
 assistance will be of the least service. 
 
 " You wiU be pleased to understand, sir, that I was 
 employed, a few years since, to write the life of a dis- 
 tinguished personage, who, besides being either presi- 
 dent or member of a vast number of societies, was 
 sole proprietor of two newspapers, which were em- 
 ployed day and night inventing new proofs of his 
 extraordinary merits. Having thus, as it were, a 
 bladder under each arm, he managed to float down 
 the stream of popularity with very considerable repu- 
 tation, and in the opinion of his most particular 
 friends, was fairly entitled to a biography. 
 
 " My instructions being to make him out a first-rate 
 great man, and as good as he was great, I went to 
 work in the usual manner, and gathered together all 
 the cardinal virtues, which I mixed up with several 
 handfuls of the most distinguishing characteristics of 
 our most illustrious ancient and modern statesmen, 
 
A WARNING TO BIOGRAPHERS. 123 
 
 heroes, and philosophers. These I stirred well to- 
 gether, and having let them ferment through about 
 twenty octavo pages, the heterogeneous mass pro- 
 duced, when it came to subside, one of the most per- 
 fect modern great men you ever saw in all your life. 
 So complete was it in aU its parts, that I actually 
 came near being the dupe of my own cleverness, and 
 could scarcely refrain from falling down and worship- 
 ping the idol of my own creation. Well, indeed, may 
 we biographers call these great people ' our heroes ' in 
 speaking of them, since, if the honest truth were told, 
 they are as much of our own creation as the imagi- 
 nary champions of romances and fairy tales. 
 
 " My employer, however, was delighted, and turned 
 my great man to considerable profit. The biography 
 had a run, and the people were not only charmed at 
 possessing so distinguished a feUow-citizen, but aston- 
 ished at not having known it before. They forthwith 
 elected him to an office of great trust and profit, as a 
 reward for his extraordinary merits, as weU as extra- 
 ordinary modesty in keeping them so long from pub- 
 lic view. AU this, I am bold to say, arose from my 
 not having weighed, and discriminated, and balanced, 
 and hesitated, between weaknesses and great qualities, 
 as certain biographers do, thereby puzzling their read- 
 ers, and leaving them in great doubt whether most to 
 admire or contemn. 
 
 " Perceiving the astonishing success of this new sys- 
 tem of superlative biography, several people, ambitious 
 of the like distinction, applied to me for a character, 
 and I was in a fair way of getting into a profitable 
 business, when a most untoward accident happened, 
 which pui an end to the whole affair. The great man 
 
124 LITEEAET LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 whom I had put in a way of making a fortune by 
 means of his biography, and whom I had decked with 
 every talent, and every virtue under heaven, took 
 occasion all at once to turn out, not only a very great 
 blockhead, but a very great rogue. By this means, 
 he not only disgraced himself, but his biographer also, 
 by destroying his reputation for veracity, and falling 
 from the high elevation to which I had raised him by 
 dint of great puffing and exertion. The most melan- 
 choly part of the business, however, was, that it put a 
 stop to the growth of a number of most promising 
 candidates for immortality that I had taken in hand. 
 These I was in a fair way of making each one greater 
 than his predecessor, whom I had just before proved 
 the greatest man of his time, by a method peculiar to 
 myself, and which I take pride in having brought 
 to the utmost possible perfection. 
 
 " In short, worthy sir, my business was quite ruined 
 by the unlucky backsHdings of my hero, while the 
 country was irretrievably injured in its glory, by 
 the loss of several great personages whose fame I 
 had brought to considerable maturity, and who wiU 
 now, most likely, never be heard of more. For the 
 sake of my own character for truthfulness, I am de- 
 termined in future never to become sponsor for the 
 reputation of any great man, untU he is as dead as 
 Julius Caesar, and consequently utterly incapable of 
 bringing his biographer to shame, by belying his good 
 word through some unseemly misbehaviour. By this 
 method I shall obviate the possibility of my hero turn- 
 ing out a fool or a knave, after I have pledged myself 
 to the world and to posterity in favour of his worth 
 and abilities. 
 
A WARNING TO BIOGRAPHERS. 125 
 
 " In pursuance of this inflexible determination, I 
 have lately declined immortalizing a number of living 
 worthies, simply because they could not produce sure- 
 ties for their future good behaviour ; and I do hereby 
 publicly announce my resolution never to become 
 responsible for a living great man, most earnestly 
 recommending this example to my brother labourers 
 in the fertile field of biography, both in Europe and 
 America. It is for their especial benefit and caution 
 that I have made this matter public, earnestly hoping, 
 as I do, that in future they will not commit them- 
 selves to the world in favour of great men, who may 
 possibly, in the natural course of events, turn out 
 arrant ninnies or swindlers before they die, 
 
 " I am, Mr. LangstafF, your sincere friend, 
 
 " Maurice M'Lead." 
 
 This recalls to mind a certain great work on " Dis- 
 tinguished Americans " which I have somewhere seen, 
 in which Clay, Jackson, Webster, and men of that 
 note, are allowed about three quarters of a page 
 apiece, and the originator of the publication some- 
 thing like half a volume, 
 
 Mr. Paulding was fond of contemplating his coun- 
 try as the asylum of the poor and persecuted of the 
 earth, and in his writings often recurred to the theme. 
 In the following paper he gives a pathetic illustration 
 of the subject. " Bayard's farm " was East of Broad- 
 way, about on the line of Canal Street. 
 
 the churchyard. 
 One of the most endearing aspects in which this 
 country presents itself to my view, is that of a place 
 of refuge for the indigent and oppressed of every 
 
126 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 corner of the earth. Whatever may be their habits 
 manners, language, religion, or sufferings, it is to this 
 happy country they look as a haven of rest, where 
 industry is the passport to competence; where the 
 earnings of the poor do not pass into the coffers of 
 the rich, or the strong-box of government ; and where 
 they can pursue the path which, in their opinion, leads 
 to eternal happiness, without forfeiting any of their 
 civil rights. 
 
 The experience of every day proves that the eyes 
 of that portion of the civilized world with which books 
 and business have connected us, are fixed upon this 
 country. The rich and noble begin to look toward it 
 as a refuge from the indiscriminate vengeance of revo- 
 lutions often brought about by an obstinate refusal 
 of reform, when reform might have at least delayed, 
 if not warded off, the catastrophe — whUe the poorer 
 classes long for the enjoyment of its generous plenty,, 
 and contemplate it at a distance, as the wanderers of 
 Israel did the land of Canaan flowing with milk and 
 honey. No doubt this latter class often, perhaps 
 always, over-rate the advantages held out by this 
 country; but stiU we do not find that experience 
 deters them from remaining. Few ever return. Like 
 the adventurer of the days of enchantment and elfin 
 influence, once within the magic circle of freedom, 
 they remain willing sojourners ; and if they sometimes 
 cast a remembering thought toward the land of their 
 birth, it is, perhaps, to wish some dear friends, and 
 dearer relatives, were here to share with them the 
 blessings of a chastened liberty. 
 
 In rambling over various parts of our country, and 
 visiting the busy crowded towns, it is a curious sub- 
 
THE CHUECHTARD. 127 
 
 ject of reflection, as -well as a source of honest satis- 
 faction, to mark the various physiognomies, and the 
 peculiarities of manner and dialect, which point out 
 the natives of far distant climes, who all flock hither 
 as to a common centre, in search of the great objects 
 of man's pursuits — freedom and happiness. The 
 blue-eyed laborious German — the saving Hollander 
 — the calculating Scot, and the uncalculating Hiber- 
 nian — the Englishman grumbling and eating — the 
 "Welshman with his long breeches, and the Welsh- 
 woman with her short petticoats — are dispersed 
 through every town, or gathered together in little 
 knots in the western land of promise. Wherever 
 they are, industry and economy make them flourish, 
 and obedience to the laws secures them all the privi- 
 leges accorded to the most distinguished citizen. 
 
 Whatever evUs the deep-thinking politician, or the 
 politician who believes he thinks deeply, may antici- 
 pate from the extraordinary mixture of human tem- 
 pers and physiognomies which this country presents, 
 I, for my part, have little doubt that it will, in the end, 
 produce aU the advantages derived from crossing the 
 breed in other animals. We find that aU old stocks, 
 whose members are continually marrying their cousins 
 and second cousins to keep estates in the family, de- 
 generate into a sort of libel upon the human race; 
 and, if I might be allowed the conjecture, I would 
 give it as my opinion, that the orang-outang and the 
 Hottentot, are the progeny of some of those exceed- 
 ingly ancient families supposed to be extinct, but 
 which gradually lost their rank in the scale of human 
 dignity, by a too great care in marrying among them- 
 selves in order to keep the blood pure and the estate 
 
128 LITERAEY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 in the family. But let the future take care of itseK; 
 it is sufficient for me, that this propensity of our 
 fellow-creatures to come among us from the uttermost 
 ends of the earth, if not a proof of the superior plenty 
 and happiness we enjoy, is at least a demonstration 
 of the good opinion entertained toward us by these 
 strangers. Let us, therefore, be proud of our country 
 and its institutions ; and, above all, let us endeavour 
 to justify their good opinion, not only by a becoming 
 hospitality, but by cherishing those laws, and pre- 
 serving those habits, which have made us an object 
 of trembling interest to the lovers of rational freedom 
 all over the world, and our country the home of the 
 stranger and the sanctuary of the oppressed. 
 
 I was led into these reflections from having by 
 chance strolled into the burying-ground of the Catho- 
 lic church, now standing on what, within my memory, 
 was called Bayard's farm. I remember it was in con- 
 sequence of my being one of a party of boys that 
 robbed an orchard on this very spot, that I felt the 
 first pricks of that monitor, whose struggles are so 
 powerful at first, but grow weaker and weaker, like 
 the receding thunder, as we advance in life, and at 
 last are awakened to new and terrible energy, by the 
 approach of death. I distinctly remember that my 
 struggles were very painful while there was danger 
 of our theft being found out, but gradually subsided 
 with my apprehensions of temporal punishment, and 
 were quite forgot by the time this fear was over. We 
 at that time gamboUed over the green grass teeming 
 with insect life, ourselves the very imps of youthful 
 hilarity, on the spot where now repose the moulder- 
 ing bones of hundreds of strangers from almost every 
 
THE CHUBCHYAED. 129 
 
 corner of the peopled earth. Such are the curious 
 and rapid mutations of our country. In a few years 
 the desert is in some places changed into the abode 
 of thousands of living men ; in others the rural field, 
 prolific of flowers and fruits, is converted into a 
 charnel-house for thousands of the dead. 
 
 The crosses at the top of the tombstones marked 
 out the sleeping crowd as having belonged to the 
 ancient Catholic church; and the legends engraven 
 on them, told that almost all were born in foreign 
 lands. They had torn asunder the ties of country 
 and the ligaments of kindred affection, and, forced 
 by hard necessity, had come hither, as it seemed, only 
 to die. They had, no doubt, promised to write, home, 
 and let their friends know how they sped ; and their 
 friends had in like manner promised to write to them. 
 But these letters had probably never been received by 
 the wanderers, whose destiny had carried them into 
 every part of this extensive country. They remained 
 without the sweet solace of news from home, and died 
 without knowing whether they preceded their old 
 friends or relatives, or had left them behind to won- 
 der at their long silence. That this occurs contin- 
 ually, no one that sees the notices of the difTerent 
 post-offices can doubt. We there find letters adver- 
 tised in great numbers for names, so evidently foreign, 
 as not to be mistaken. They are directed to the ports 
 whither these wanderers were bound ; but before they 
 arrive, the dispersion from the ark in which they 
 floated over -the waves has taken place — the emi- 
 grants have gone, no one knows whither, in search 
 of a resting-place or of employment, and the letter 
 never comes to hand. 
 
 9 
 
130 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Hence it often happens, that the relations who 
 come out afterward, in search of them or of happii. 
 ness, go to the churchyards to inquire of the grave- 
 stones the fate of their lost ones. It is at least some 
 little assurance of their being alive, if they are not 
 found among the tombs ; and it is for this reason that 
 the poor Irish especially, if they cannot afford a stone 
 to teU their names and whence they came, erect a 
 wooden slab over the dead, to serve at least as a fraU 
 guide to those who may come to inquire their fate. 
 Any one who goes into the burying-place of one of 
 these Catholic churches on a Sabbath day, cannot 
 fail of seeing a number of men, women, and children, 
 wandering about, and consulting the gravestones for 
 news of those who have preceded them to this new 
 world, and many of them got the start to the world 
 to come. There is something affecting in such a 
 sight, and sometimes, instead of attending a sermon, 
 I go to the tombs of the Catholic church, and there 
 receive a lesson of the uncertainty of life, as well as 
 the vanity of human hopes and worldly pursuits. 
 
 Indulging in these feelings and reflections one Sun- 
 day afternoon, I at last found myself the only person 
 left in the burial-place, except an old man who lin- 
 gered behind, and was standing in front of a wooden 
 slab at the head of a new-made grave. He might 
 have passed for a statue, only his costume was not 
 classical, and his attitude too much Uke nature; at 
 any rate, he seemed immovable, and the first impres- 
 sion on my mind was, that some bodily infirmity, or 
 sudden indisposition, prevented his retiring. I am 
 a shy sort of person, and never address a stranger 
 without some particular reason. "When I do, I am 
 
THE CHUECHTARD. 181 
 
 very apt to say something rather ridiculous, or to 
 make some observation exceedingly far-fetched and 
 outr^. It was so on this occasion. I felt a sympathy 
 for this old figure, and not knowing exactly what to 
 say, walked up to him, and very abruptly asked 
 " what he was looking for ? " The figure then raised 
 his eyes as if he was offended at this intrusion, but 
 seeing an old man, and an oldfashioned man too, 
 before him, who, I will venture to say, does not look 
 as if he could be impertinent, answered, after some 
 little hesitation, " I was looking for a lost son, and 
 have just now found him." Not knowing exactly 
 what to say, I uttered a sort of bungling congratu- 
 lation. " What makes the discovery more precious," 
 continued the old man, " he was my only son — my 
 only child — the only relation I had in the, world." 
 By this time I felt extremely awkward, and cast an 
 inquiring look about, as if to ask where the young 
 man was. He seemed to understand me, and point- 
 ing to the grave, answered — " There." 
 
IX. 
 
 1819-1820. [^1.41-42.] 
 
 SECOND SERIES OF SALMAGUNDI CONTINUED AN ECCENTKIO SAGE — 
 
 HIC FINIS FANDI — EARLY KECOLLECTIONS OF JAMES K. PAULDING. 
 
 Here is a richly-toned study of a happy, if whim- 
 sical, old man. Many of the touches are derived from 
 the father of his friend Brevoort, and his establish- 
 ment, which, by the way, was situated not very far 
 from the location of the present Grace Church. The 
 article is simply " From my elbow chair ", but, for the 
 sake of a heading, I call it 
 
 AN ECCENTRIC SAGE. 
 
 That man is, in my opinion, truly fortunate, who, 
 amid the frivolous pursuits, artificial enjoyments, and 
 heartless follies which allure him on every side, pre- 
 serves a taste for the pure and simple pleasures of a 
 country life. Whether he devotes himself to the cul- 
 tivation of those productions which are necessary to 
 the existence of his feUow-creatures, or amuses his 
 leisure hours in watching the progress of his flowers, 
 or beautifying the little world where centre all his 
 enjoyments, still to him the beneficent Creator has 
 been most bountiful, by giving a source of innocent 
 happiness, awakened by the contemplation of rural 
 objects everywhere spread over the face of nature, 
 and fed by the purest springs of moral and intel- 
 lectual feeling. 
 [132] 
 
AN ECCENTEIC SAGE. 133 
 
 From my very boyhood, it has been my peculiar 
 happiness to share the friendship and affection of a 
 worthy gentleman, whose gentle virtues and singular 
 turn of mind wiU furnish me with a happy illustration 
 of the foregoing observations. He inherited from 
 nature a mind of uncommon strength, as well as sin- 
 gular benevolence of heart; but owing to various 
 circumstances, to his living much within the bounda- 
 ries of his own territories, and exercising unlimited 
 authority therein, his strength of mind and goodness 
 of disposition have branched out into sundry peculi- 
 arities, all characteristic of the best feelings, however 
 whimsically displayed. 
 
 His ancestors were among the first Christian set- 
 tlers of this fair and prosperous isle, and, unlike most 
 of their worthy contemporaries, preserved their lands 
 entire, although often tempted by the mighty, specula- 
 tors of the times to sell them, and become paupers 
 in the third generation. My old friend inherited the 
 whole, free from bond, note, or mortgage, and has re- 
 tained them to the present time ; when, in conse- 
 quence of the near approach of the city, they have 
 become a valuable estate. I question, however, 
 whether this immense increase of wealth makes him 
 amends for the vexations the inroad of the town 
 occasions him. Numerous are the border wars, the 
 watchings and inventions, to which he is obliged to 
 resort, in order to protect his subjects from the raids 
 of the moss-troopers of Greenwich, the Bowery, and 
 Kip's Bay ; and I have great doubts whether any of 
 the renowned commanders of ancient or modern times 
 ever devised more excellent stratagems to circumvent 
 their enemies. Truth obliges me to confess, however, 
 
134 LITERAEY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 that not one of them ever succeeded, except in a 
 single instance, where he caught a fellow in his fowl- 
 house by means of a contrivance of such singular 
 excellence, that, in going to secure the culprit, my old 
 friend was himseK caught in the same trap. Being 
 thus unintentionally placed in bad company, he made 
 the best of his situation by entering into conversa- 
 tion with his neighbour, who gave such an affecting 
 account of the distresses of his family, that the old 
 gentleman became an accomplice in robbing his own 
 henroost, and actually bestowed two of his fattest 
 pullets upon the rogue. He denies this story, but I 
 give the reader my word it is true. 
 
 One of the most amusing peculiarities of my excel- 
 lent friend is an extravagant fondness for the whole 
 animal creation. His old mansion is a kind of ark, 
 inhabited by almost every variety of the feathered 
 race, from the voluble and various mock-bird, to the 
 solemn owl. His poultry-yard also abounds in a vast 
 number of different kinds of domestic animals and 
 fowls, all of which he cherishes with a sort of parental 
 affection, and among which he administers justice 
 with the sagacity and uprightness of a Marshall. 
 Such, indeed, is the mildness, yet vigour of his ad- 
 ministration, that I have often looked upon him in 
 the light of a mighty potentate, exercising an affec- 
 tionate and patriarchal sway over his numerous and 
 partycoloured subjects, and have more than once been 
 tempted to hold him up as an example to the present 
 race of kings, being fully persuaded, that the same 
 equitable system of legislation extended over the 
 human race, would produce a degree of happiness 
 among my fellow-creatures, to which they are almost 
 
AN ECCENTRIC SAGE. 135 
 
 everywhere strangers. It is quite impossible for me 
 to afford myself space for a full development of all 
 the little arts of state policy practised in the govern- 
 ment of his animal kingdom. The reader must be 
 content with a brief account of some of the leading 
 features, which will, however, be amply sufficient to 
 show the excellence of his system. 
 
 Like all wise rulers, his great object is to preserve 
 peace and union among his subjects at home, and 
 guard his frontiers from the incursions of enemies. 
 Early in the morning, you will see him walk forth 
 like one of the patriarchs of olden time. The mo- 
 ment he appears, his subjects come running and flying 
 from every direction to welcome his approach, and 
 give the merry morning salutation. The poultry flut- 
 ter about his feet, or perch familiarly upon his shoul- 
 der, knowing by experience the good monarch will 
 not harm a feather of their speckled wings. The 
 pigeons too, of which he has a great variety, fan-tails, 
 pouters, tumblers, and letter-carriers, the moment they 
 see him, descend from the air, or from the roofs of the 
 out-buildings, hovering and fluttering their congratu- 
 lations; the turkeys run gobbling toward him, the 
 ducks and geese come waddling up with toes turned 
 inward, while half a dozen dogs of various genera- 
 tions, but all of one family, approach, wagging their 
 tails, and leaping up to his honest old heart. 
 
 All this is pleasant enough. It is like going about 
 among the people, and receiving addresses of con- 
 gratulation, such as grateful hearts bestow on those 
 who govern wisely and justly. But it is inconceiva- 
 ble what difficulties my old friend has to encounter, 
 and what exertions he is obliged to make to keep the 
 
136 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 peace among his motley subjects, when he adminis- 
 ters their breakfast. I remember at one time there 
 was a tall boasting gander, of the Chinese breed, who 
 occasioned him a vast deal of trouble by reason of 
 his quarrelsome, overbearing disposition, which kept 
 the whole kingdom in a state of utter confusion and 
 ferment. He was at length decreed a triangular yoke, 
 which not only mortified his pride, but also impeded 
 the progress of his further enormities. On another 
 occasion there was a lordly turkey-cock, whom my 
 old friend dubbed the noble lord in the red ribbon, 
 and who, like a notable bully, stalked over the com- 
 mon people without ceremony, creating great confu- 
 sion, and sometimes trampling on the little chickens. 
 I shall never forget the exultation of the old gentle- 
 man when a favourite game chicken of the Delancey 
 breed attacked the buUy one morning, and gave him 
 such a sound drubbing that he always kept the peace 
 afterward. The gray-haired monarch, Hke another 
 Bonaparte, immediately erected one of his barnyards 
 into an independent Idngdom, which he assigned to 
 this valiant champion, together with a seraglio of 
 half a dozen of his plump pullets. There is a wise- 
 looking owl, which has been attached to the court of 
 the old gentleman for nearly twenty years past, and 
 whom he calls his minister of police. His functions 
 consist in the particular superintendence of the king- 
 dom at night, when he prowls about like a trusty 
 watchman, detecting the rats and weasels in their 
 depredations, and putting martial law in force against 
 them. On one occasion, however, he was caught in 
 the fact of eating a favourite pup spaniel, and, in 
 consequence of this abuse of power, was for some 
 
AN ECCBNTEIC SAGE. 137 
 
 time confined to a hollow apple-tree, like a disgraced 
 Spanish minister in the tower of Segovia. 
 
 One fine morning last spring I walked out to pay 
 a visit to this exemplary monarch, and found him in 
 one of his best humours. He shook my hand with 
 great glee, exclaiming at the same time, " They are 
 come — they are come ! " — " What, your grandsons 
 from school ? " replied I. " No — no — the martins — 
 don't you hear the little rogues twittering on the box 
 yonder ? " Honest, pure soul — thought I — happy, 
 thrice happy, in the virtuous simplicity, which can 
 banquet on such cheap and innocent gratifications! 
 Just then a tumbler pigeon flew high in the air, and, 
 according to the singular instinct of that curious bird, 
 poised itself for a moment, and throwing a somerset 
 backward, descended again to the infinite delight of 
 the monarch, who talked of bestowing a new coop 
 on the occasion, and rewarded the feat with a handful 
 of grain, of which the rest of his courtiers, according 
 to custom, managed to get the best share. I am of 
 opinion that my friend enjoyed this feat with much 
 greater zest, than if he had seen the clown at the 
 circus exhibit those wonderful evolutions, which a 
 discerning public rewarded, not long since, with a 
 benefit of twelve hundred dollars. 
 
 We now went in to breakfast, where the good man 
 entertained me with a long account of the wars be- 
 tween the pigeons and martins, the Guelphs and 
 Ghibellines of his commonwealth, who alternately 
 turned each other out of house and home. The 
 injuries inflicted on the swallows by the martins, were 
 also another fruitful source of difficulty. " Plague 
 ta,ke them," said he, in the tone of a fond parent. 
 
138 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 affecting to find fault with a favoured uichin who 
 quarrels with his school-fellows — "Plague take them. 
 I believe they would master my whole territory, if it 
 were not for a little wren, who is a perfect Bonaparte, 
 and whom I shall be obliged to send to St. Helena if 
 he don't keep the peace. There is no telling you 
 what trouble I have with these three conflicting pow- 
 ers, the pigeons, the martins, and the little wren, who 
 seems a match for all together." 
 
 When breakfast was over, after examining his 
 aviary, turning the eggs of his canary-birds' nests, 
 feeding the young orphans, (for whose safety a sort 
 of stronghold, faced with wire, is constructed at one 
 end of the room), and playing a few tunes on the 
 organ for their instruction, we sallied forth to inspect 
 the farmyard, as well as the more remote frontiers. 
 As the most perfect ruler that ever existed always has 
 a secret corner of his heart in which is cherished 
 some weak partiality, that every now and then dis- 
 closes itself in an undue favouritism, so am I obliged 
 to confess that I have more than once detected the 
 old gentleman in this grievous fault. His pigeons are 
 undoubtedly his chief courtiers, and it is in respect 
 to them that the cares of sovereignty lie heaviest on 
 his mind. These birds partake more than others of 
 the foibles and caprices of human beings, and the old 
 gentleman assured me, with much gravity, that he 
 has known the domestic happiness of a worthy family 
 entirely destroyed by a neighbouring rival having its 
 coop repaired and embellished. This occasioned 
 jealousies, discontents, and heart-burnings, which dis- 
 played themselves in the males' fighting, and the 
 females' scolding, whenever they met each other. 
 
AN ECCENTRIC SAGE. 139 
 
 He moreover complained to me, that very often a 
 young rake-hell of a pouter (the dandies of the dove- 
 cot) win obstinately refuse to unite in the bands of 
 matrimony with a plump heiress he has specially 
 selected, and, in spite of his efforts, persevere in a 
 course of wicked debauchery, to the utter confound- 
 ing of his species and ruin of his constitution. Every 
 day the behaviour of some one of these unworthy 
 favourites brings my worthy friend into fresh trouble. 
 Sometimes the children disobey their parents, by ven- 
 turing out into the temptations of a bad world before 
 they are properly fledged, and, falling to the ground, 
 become a prey to cats, children, and other arch ene- 
 mies that are always on the watch to entrap helpless 
 innocence. At other times, he is put to his wits' ends 
 in attempting to reform some wicked polygamist, 
 who, in open defiance of the laws, persists in taking 
 to himself half a dozen wives, and as many concu- 
 bines. In a word, it is my opinion, that my friend 
 displays more of the policy of a wise magistrate, 
 more of the uprightness of an inflexible judge, and 
 more of the temper of a true philosopher, in keeping 
 peace among the quarrelsome, pacifying the rebel- 
 lious, reforming the profligate, providing for the 
 orphans, afliancing the widows, and chastising the 
 bachelors, than any one single member of the holy 
 alliance, or indeed aU of them together. By this ex- 
 cellent mode of recreation, he not only procures to 
 himself a rich and abundant source of happiness, but 
 exemplifies at the same time as complete a system of 
 morals and laws, as ever came from the brain of a 
 Solon or a Lycurgus. 
 
 I must not omit to mention, before I conclude this 
 
140 LITEEART LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 paper, that the old gentleman, by a course of experi- 
 ments upon his pigeons, has become a complete con- 
 vert to the doctrines of the great Isaac Bickerstaff. 
 He assures me that he can produce at pleasure, (that 
 is, provided they will only follow his directions), 
 pigeons of the most whimsical and opposite colours, 
 and breed a fan-taU with any given number of feath- 
 ers in his tail, .not exceeding thirty-eight, which is the 
 ne-plus-uUra of nature's efforts. 
 
 After exhibiting to me a pair of choice trumpeter 
 pigeons, he exemplified his doctrine by a history of 
 their birth and lineage. 
 
 " Not six months ago," said he, " I got possession 
 of that rare and beautiful bird," — pointing to the 
 male — " but being the only one of its kind in the 
 country, I was quite in despair, lest I should not be 
 able to increase the stock. In this dilemma, how do 
 you think I managed matters ? i' faith, I immediately 
 married him to a beautiful Capuchin lady, she being 
 the nearest to him in affinity. The first brood was 
 doubtful; the second gave me the liveliest hopes; 
 and the third promised to crown my wishes, had it 
 not been for a Hack carrier, who sat just facing her 
 during the sympathetic period, and turned the young 
 ones at least ten shades darker than the mother. The 
 fourth experiment was of course lost, in merely re- 
 storing the natural colour they had forfeited by the 
 preceding one, and in the prosecution of the fifth, I 
 was overtaken by a great misfortune. A strutting 
 young libertine of a pouter captivated the affections 
 of the lady, who consented to an elopement. AU the 
 consequences of such an imprudent step naturally 
 followed. But to bring the affair to a conclusion, the 
 
AN ECCENTRIC SAGE. 141 
 
 sixth generation completely rewarded my cares, and 
 gave me full assurance of the truth of my theory." 
 
 In such converse we continued our walks over 
 the ample domains of this worthy potentate. The 
 same peculiar humour that governs the economy 
 of his farmyard and pigeon-house, displays itself 
 in his system of gardening and husbandry. He is 
 always indulging himself in curious experiments 
 in grafting and planting, and is a firm believer in 
 the fanciful system of Darwin. Affinities and an- 
 tipathies are carefully consulted in the disposition 
 of his plants and vines, and he is particularly atten- 
 tive in preventing all lands of vegetable debauchery, 
 by planting his melons, cucumbers, &c., at such a dis- 
 tance as to render every kind of criminal intercourse 
 quite impossible. With a liberality truly admirable, 
 he sows an acre of miUet-seed every year, by way of 
 voluntary alms to the wild birds of the air, who, 
 though not his subjects, annually resort to his do- 
 mains in flocks that veil the clouds, with all the 
 punctuality of pensioned courtiers or soup-house pau- 
 pers. It is expected, however, that they will keep 
 terms, and refrain from aU depredations on the rest of 
 the kingdom; otherwise they may be pretty certain 
 of being shot, with a gun at least twelve feet long, 
 which never yet failed in committing great slaugh- 
 ter. 
 
 After traversing many weU-cultivated fields, we at 
 length ascended a pretty high hill, commanding an 
 extensive and variegated prospect of smiling mea- 
 dows and waving woods, putting forth their spring 
 verdure in gay profusion. The scene naturally called 
 up agreeable or tender associations, and the good old 
 
142 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 man insensibly glided into a train of long past yet 
 happy recollections. Every field was pointed out as 
 the theatre of some frolicsome exploit of buxom boy- 
 hood — -here he had caught a mockbird, which sung 
 so loud that his mother kept him in a dark room for 
 fear of disturbing the children; there he had shot a 
 covey of quails : and yonder, said he, under that old 
 stump, once a spreading oak, I used to sit of an 
 evening, with one who was my mistress in youth, my 
 wife in manhood, my staff in age, and who is now an 
 angel in Heaven. 
 
 As I walked home that evening, and saw the busy 
 crowds of the city panting in tides and eddies in all 
 directions, and pursuing pleasure, through every 
 avenue of pain, at the expense of ease and comfort, 
 often at the sacrifice of health, fortune, and fame, the 
 simple and amiable eccentricities of my old friend 
 gradually assumed the airs of sober wisdom ; and I 
 could not help acknowledging to myself, that he was 
 not only the happiest of old men, but one of the 
 most rational I had ever known. 
 
 In the last article of this series our author has 
 something to say of the original fictitious trio of re- 
 formers critics and men about town. The account is 
 professedly written by Anthony Evergreen. The note 
 refers, as I assume, to " The Legend of Sleepy Hol- 
 low." 
 
 HIC FINIS FANDI. 
 
 The reader who, with a patience worthy of a 
 greater reward than any in our power to bestow, 
 has thus far resolutely accompanied us to the present 
 issue of our labours, must have noticed that almost 
 
HIC FINIS PANDI. 143 
 
 all the fatigues of conducting the work have fallen 
 upon our worthy principal, Launcelot Langstaff. Al- 
 though the secret has hitherto been carefully con- 
 cealed, lest it might throw a gloom over the public 
 mind, and increase the depression of the times, it can 
 now no longer be concealed. The health of the old 
 gentleman sunk under the task, and for some time he 
 had been gradually declining into a state that called 
 forth all the anxieties of his friends, who foresaw that 
 his course was soon to be brought to a close. 
 
 In conducting the second series of this work he 
 fared indeed like the undertakers of most of our 
 periodical papers, who set out with the promise of 
 assistance from a vast many literary gentlemen, who 
 never contribute a single line. He was wont to 
 observe, that from the increasing indolence of his 
 worthy copesmates, many people began to suspect, 
 that notwithstanding the great show of men he 
 affected to nmster in his outset, he was in reality 
 pretty much in the predicament of some of our ex- 
 cellent brevet officers, who scamper about on the 
 Fourth of July as if the enemy was at their heels, 
 and make a great figure, without having so much 
 as a little bandy-legged drummer under theij com- 
 mand. 
 
 In justice to myself and honest William Wizard, 
 I wiU endeavour, now that we are about to bid a 
 final farewell to the public, to account for the little 
 agency we two have had in conducting the latter part 
 of this work. However careless men may be in pre- 
 serving a good name during their lives, all are ambi- 
 tious of a little praise after death, and aspire at least 
 to the honours of an epitaph. 
 
144 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 For myself, I confess to the world that I have lately 
 discovered I begin to grow old, which is generally one 
 of the last lessons of a bachelor's life, and, like the 
 recovery of a madman's wits, indicates that he has 
 not long to live. I have therefore been lately en- 
 deavouring to make preparations for the final catas- 
 trophe by looking out for a wife, that I may have 
 somebody to close my eyes when I am dead, and to 
 hold me up as an example to her second husband. 
 Should I succeed in my attempts, I mean to behave 
 so kindly to my wife, that though an old man (I con- 
 fess it), she shall not fail to remember me with grati- 
 tude, if not Avith love. For this desertion of the most 
 ancient order of bachelors I have no other apology to 
 make than that, although the single state may be 
 pleasant enough through the spring and summer of 
 life, the autumn and the winter are melancholy sea- 
 sons when there is none near and dear to us to make 
 the fireside look cheerful. 
 
 The occasion of Will Wizard's obstinate silence is 
 also a love affair, which has for a long while past oc- 
 casioned infinite merriment to those in the secret 
 It is now more than ten years since he began to ex- 
 hibit demonstrations of a preference for Miss Barbara 
 Cockloft. This predilection he displayed in various 
 ways altogether peculiar to himself, but most espe- 
 cially by sitting with his chin resting on one end of 
 the sofa, gazing at her as she sat at the other, for 
 whole hours together, without uttering a single word. 
 At other times he would sit beside her, snipping little 
 bits of riband or muslin with her scissors ; and when 
 he felt himself sufficiently imboldened, would insist 
 upon threading her needle, with a wink which, though 
 
HIC FINIS PANDI. 145 
 
 nobody could comprehend, he considered particularly 
 significant. Having pursued this method of court- 
 ship some six or eight years, he began to look upon 
 her as actually engaged to marry him, although he 
 had never talked of love in her presence ; and grew 
 intolerably jealous of several spruce old bachelors 
 who visited at the house occasionally, none of whom, 
 I verily believe, had a thought of interfering with his 
 happy prospects. I remember some years since pre- 
 senting her with a rose, a piece of oldfashioned gal- 
 lantry I hold in great respect, which so affronted Will 
 that he called me Mr. Evergreen for a week after- 
 ward, and took every opportunity of sneering at the 
 gallantries of old bachelors. 
 
 About six months ago he wrought himself up to a 
 declaration, being thereunto stimulated by the late 
 almost total stagnation of commerce, which left him 
 entirely out of employment. Being too modest either 
 to declare himself viva voce, or even to deliver the 
 letter in which he had poured forth his whole soul 
 with genuine Eastern pathos, he concluded to send it 
 by one of the carrier pigeons which belonged to the 
 old gentleman whose system of rural economy we 
 commemorated in a former number. Accordingly he 
 tied the letter round the bird's neck after the manner 
 he had seen practised in the East, and sent her on this 
 important errand of love. 
 
 The pigeon, unconscious of the dignity of her em- 
 bassy, instead of bending her course directly to Cock- 
 loft Hall, as she ought to have done, gambolled about 
 in airy circles for a while, and at length dropped the 
 letter where it was found by an old lady walking in 
 her garden, who forthwith called a tea-party on the 
 
 10 
 
146 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K, PAULDING. 
 
 occasion. I don't know how it was, but though every 
 one present disclaimed opening the letter or knowing 
 any thing of its contents, the secret transpired, and, 
 in the natural course of events, came to the ears of 
 Mrs. Cockloft. The old lady forthwith categorically 
 demanded an explanation of her daughter, who first 
 fainted away, and then confessed her secret. Will 
 was immediately sent for ; and after receiving a se- 
 vere reprimand for thus secretly tampering with the 
 affections of a young and inexperienced girl, was 
 formally acknowledged as the future son-in-law. 
 
 Never was there such a bustle at the haU as the 
 disclosure, and the preparations for this marriage, 
 occasioned. Such an event had not taken place 
 in the family of Cockloft in all its branches for 
 thirty years, and it was determined that it should be 
 remembered at least thirty years more. Every thing 
 was conducted in a style of sixty years ago, before 
 the fashion came up of crying at weddings and laugh- 
 ing at funerals. The old demijohn of wine, which 
 had been set aside on Miss Barbara's birthday to be 
 drunk at her wedding, and which everybody had long 
 despaired of tasting, was now drained of its sparkling 
 freight, and every thing above stairs, as well as every 
 thing below, shared in the liberal festivity. Limbs 
 that had not capered, and hearts that had not leaped 
 with joy, for many a year, now waxed merry in the 
 sprightly revelry ; nor did the bride faint, or the bride- 
 groom look as if he was just going to be hanged, as 
 is usual on such occasions. One thing I must not 
 omit to notice on this occasion, as it was considered 
 as a clear indication that Miss Cockloft the elder 
 would never be married. The demijohn of wine 
 
HIC FINIS PANDI. 147 
 
 which had in like manner been set apart for her 
 wedding-day was discovered to be entirely empty, 
 without any person being able to give any account 
 of the matter. 
 
 But alas ! reader, the toe of the grave-digger is on 
 the heel of the dancing-man ! That very night, when 
 the sound of gayety had ceased in the old hall, and 
 sleep hovered over all the house, the gpod Launcelot, 
 having perhaps tasked his almost worn-out spirits too 
 hardly in order to do honour to the nuptials, was 
 smitten with the arrow of death ; which, after rankling 
 about his heart a few days, carried him at last to his 
 long home. His death was such as might naturally 
 have been expected from the innocence of his life, and 
 the mingled strength and careless eccentricity of his 
 character. He gave little keepsakes to all his old 
 friends, and devised every thing away that he had in 
 the world but a plain gold ring, which he had worn 
 ever since I first knew him, and which he desired 
 might go with him to his grave. At his decease the 
 newspapers forgot to record the old story, that " a 
 great man had fallen in Israel," neither did the whole 
 world weep for his loss. But there were left behind 
 him a few old friends who must soon follow, but who, 
 while they live, will not forget their ancient comrade. 
 
 Should any stranger ever be inclined to visit his 
 grave, he may find it by the description which fol- 
 lows. He lies buried in the graveyard of a neigh- 
 bouring church,* which would hardly be perceived 
 
 * The reader may perhaps see some resemblance between the scene and 
 characters here described, and a sketch by our old associate GeoflFrey Crayon, 
 in a late number. It is hardly worth while to alter this now, as it was 
 done some time before the publication of the other. It may remain as a 
 memorial that our early associations had much in common. 
 
148 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 through the groves of old locust-trees which shadow 
 it on every side, were it not for the little white 
 steeple that peeps over the tops. On the right, at 
 a little distance, and near enough to be associated 
 with the building, is a forest of silver pines ; to the 
 left, and just at the extremity of the burial-ground, 
 runs a brawling brook, whose high rocky sides are 
 covered with a growth of hemlock-trees, that would 
 make a stranger totally unconscious of the neigh- 
 bourhood of the stream, were not its murmurings 
 heard beneath. A short distance below, the brook is 
 crossed by a dam, which makes a beautiful little pond 
 nearly in front of the church, whose waters are like 
 crystal, reflecting the rocks and trees that hang over 
 its steep and rugged banks. 
 
 A number of old trees half decayed, fit emblems 
 of man and all the productions of nature over which 
 his beneficent Maker gave him dominion, are dis- 
 persed at random among the tomb-stones, where are 
 recorded the virtues of half a dozen generations of 
 men, whose faults, if they had any, are long since for- 
 gotten. Some of these memorials are carved in wood; 
 others engraved on freestone ; while here and there 
 a stately white marble rears its head high above the 
 humble things around, often mistaken for a sheeted 
 ghost by the skittish rustic whose hard fate it is to 
 pass by the churchyard at night. But by far the 
 greater number of tenants of these silent mansions 
 sleep without any memorial, and nothing marks the 
 spot where they rest but a little mound, covered with 
 grass and briers, or a little hollow in the earth, where 
 it has sunk in consequence of the decay of their " nar- 
 row house." I remember the last time Launcelot and 
 
HIC FINIS PANDI. 149 
 
 I visited this spot together, one mild summer twi- 
 light. He stopped at one of these undistinguished 
 mounds, and, planting his cane upon the ground, 
 addressed me with a smile half serious, half gay, as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Would you believe it, my old friend, in this spot 
 repose the remains of the first man — I don't mean 
 Adam — but the first man that ever inflicted upon me 
 the discipline of the birchen twig. It is almost sixty 
 years since I saw him deposited in this very grave. I 
 remember it almost as if it were but yesterday ; for it 
 was the first time I ever witnessed this last scene of 
 life's drama, and it made a lasting impression. His 
 name was Tobit, and he was reckoned the most ex- 
 pert flogger for fifty miles round. That he deserved 
 the character he had obtained I can bear testimony. 
 I remember I wore a red coat at that day, which not 
 only occasioned me many a severe battle with certain 
 Whig turkey-cocks, but likewise cost me many a 
 sound flagellation from the professor of birch. I 
 never robbed an orchard, or made one in a moss- 
 trooping expedition, that my red coat did not betray 
 and bring me to condign punishment. Tobit used 
 once or twice a day to leave his school, and pay a 
 visit to a pretty black-eyed widow that lived at no 
 great distance, at which times he would delegate the 
 charge of keeping order upon one of his flock. If the 
 regent did his duty to his master by telling tales, 
 he of course got the iU-will of his playmates; if he 
 played the honest fellow, and said nothing, he got 
 well flogged for his pains ; for the secret was pretty 
 sure to be discovered one way or another. It was by 
 acting occasionally in this responsible situation that I 
 
150 LITBRAEY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 first took a distaste to places of honour, which I still 
 preserve. He had been pinned to this same spot 
 more than forty years ; and was heard to boast, not 
 long before his death, that there was not a man in the 
 whole neighborhood that he had not flogged at least 
 half a dozen times. Yet here he lies, at least all that 
 is left of him, without a memorial, a pregnant instance 
 of human ingratitude. If I live, I am determined to 
 erect a stone over his grave, if it be only that the 
 memory of his dexterity in flourishing the birch may 
 not be lost to posterity. 
 
 " But see here " — continued he, passing on a little 
 farther to a high grave-stone, purporting to be erected 
 to the memory of a man of many titles — " Here lies 
 a most notable hero, who commanded a company of 
 militia during the old war, and, as I remember, wore 
 a cocked hat in consequence, aU his life afterward. 
 He used to come into the village where I boarded 
 when at the academy, mounted on his war-horse, 
 which possessed the singular instinct of carrying his 
 master home safe without his knowing any thing of 
 the matter. On these occasions the whole village was 
 in an uproar ; for the first sortie he made was gene- 
 rally into the tavern on horseback, as he scorned to 
 enter it in any other manner. Here, after carousing 
 pretty lustUy, telling the story of his having once put 
 a whole troop of yagers to flight with his own hand, 
 and treating every one that came in his way, he would 
 mount his horse, and ride up the steps into the long 
 piazza of a worthy townsman, who, as the revolu- 
 tionary hero affirmed, was a great tory during the 
 war. Here he would prance back and forth, vapour- 
 ing and braving, until his antagonist was fain to turn 
 
HIC FINIS PANDI. 151 
 
 out and accompany him to the inn, where they never 
 failed to quarrel during the rest of the evening. The 
 warrior was a large, burly feUow, full of sound and 
 fury, who always waxed wroth in proportion as his 
 adversary grew cool. The other, on the contrary, was 
 a tall, rawboned, shrewd man, who knew the captain's 
 cue exactly, and had a perfect command of his own 
 temper, which gave him great advantages. He would 
 alternately irritate and soothe him, to the infinite 
 amusement of the village loungers ; and, when tired 
 of the sport, conclude with telling the story of the 
 captain's once hiding behind the chimney when he 
 thought the British were coming. By the time he 
 had got fairly through the story the captain was on 
 horseback, defying his adversary to mortal combat; 
 but, after parading some time, he generally put him- 
 self under the safe conduct of his charger, who soberly 
 trotted home with his valiant master." 
 
 In this way the old gentleman amused himself by 
 revealing his early rural recollections, until we came 
 to a tomb over which, certain shrubbery had been 
 planted, which indicated something more than ordi- 
 nary. " Here," said he, with a countenance more sad 
 than usual, " here are deposited the remains of a 
 mother and her little twins, who died within four-and- 
 twenty hours of each other. The mother was my 
 only sister ; a noble woman, whose mind and person 
 were equally lovely. The twins were so much alike 
 that I never could distinguish the one from the other, 
 and even the quick searching eye of an affectionate 
 mother was often at a loss. One of them wore a 
 pink, the other a blue ribbon, in order that they might 
 be known apart. One spark of life seemed to ani- 
 
152 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 mate them, and it was extinguished almost at the 
 same moment. One of those sore throats which 
 sometimes almost depopulate country neighborhoods 
 swept away the children and their mother, who all 
 rest here together, their fate commemorated in this 
 simple epitaph: — 
 
 " ' They were lovdy and pleasant in their lives, and 
 in their deaths they were not divided.' 
 
 " I believe," continued he, " I could give the story 
 of aU the human race, their lives and deaths, were I 
 to traverse the whole of this little refuge of mortali- 
 ty, and sketch the history of each of the tenants of 
 these silent mansions. But the cowbell is silent, the 
 dew begins to fall heavily, and if Mrs. Cockloft were 
 to hear yon whippoorwill, she would think one or 
 other of us would certainly die before long. If it 
 should be my lot to go first," added he, smiling, " bury 
 me beside those innocents. I hope I may not dis- 
 grace their society, either now or hereafter." 
 
 I recollected his wish, and it was complied with. 
 His epitaph is not yet written. The reader may 
 make one to please himself, provided he does not ven- 
 ture to insinuate that the old gentleman ought to 
 have died some ten years ago. 
 
 Anthony Evergreen. 
 
 The preceding article is full of recollections of Mr. 
 Paulding's early life. The military hero is not a 
 creation of fancy. There is a reminiscence of those 
 days as related by my father, which occurs to my 
 memory, and which seems as if it might have been 
 connected with him and his tormentor. At any rate 
 I will assume that it was. It appears then that one 
 
REMINISCENCES, 153 
 
 of the expedients of the enemy, to annoy the Captain, 
 consisted in the use of uncommon and turgid words. 
 
 " "Well, Captain," would he remark, " this is a plu- 
 vious afternoon, eh ? " 
 
 Captain. " What the do you mean by ' plu- 
 vious ' ! " 
 
 Adversary. " Oh, you dont understand English — 
 wet, dampy, dewy." 
 
 Captain. " A — a — h ! " 
 
 When he had excited the poor giant to a pitch of 
 fury, he would observe : " Never mind. Captain, there 
 have been worse men than you in the world." As 
 the personage addressed brightened up under the 
 insidious light of this questionable compliment, he 
 would add : — " But then they were hanged." 
 
 The red jacket of " Launcelot Langstaff " was in- 
 deed our author's own, and is connected with a little 
 incident, which, though sufficiently commonplace, is 
 not without a shade of pathos, due to its associations. 
 It was to his childish mind the first intimation of 
 altered position, and, as he declares, the recollection 
 of it, even late in life, always affected him " almost to 
 tears ", as bringing back to him vividly the mother to 
 whose unvarying kindness he so often bears testi- 
 mony. After observing that, until the ruin of his 
 father, the children had been brought up in some 
 style, he continues: — 
 
 " When however my father was carried to jail, and 
 he was finally divested of his all, it became necessary 
 to cut our coat according to our cloth, and accord- 
 ingly a severe retrenchment took place. The circum- 
 stance that dwells most deeply and afFectingly on my 
 memory at this distant period, is my mother's cEilling 
 
154 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 me in from play, to exchange my red coat and its 
 accompaniments for a suit of homespun linen. I 
 opposed this proceeding with aU my might, until my 
 mother soothed me into acquiescence, by assuring me 
 the new suit was much handsomer and far more com- 
 fortable than the old, and I went to play again fully 
 satisfied." 
 
 But, of these slight glimpses of a condition of 
 things long passed away, enough. That customs and 
 means were so different from the present must be the 
 excuse for their having been given at all. 
 
X. 
 
 1821-1822. [^T. 43-44.] 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN IN HADEa — A SKETCH OP OLD ENGLAND, BY A 
 NEW ENGLAND MAN — REVIEWED IN " THE QUARTERLY " — THE ROYAL, 
 AND THE PRESIDENTIAL, HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 During the latter half of 1820, and the whole of 
 1821, Mr. Paulding seems to have kept himself in the 
 background ; but the subjoined sketch occurs in an 
 article furnished to The National Intelligencer of Jan- 
 uary 20th, 1821, over the words '^Parvus Homo", 
 which indicate his contributions to that paper. Our 
 author is giving an account of a supposed visit to 
 Hades. 
 
 BENJAMIN FEANKLm. 
 
 OuE Franklin happily passes his time, in pleasing 
 sobriety, with the illustrious sages and philosophers 
 of all nations and ages. Though uniformly cheerful, 
 he seldom or never laughs ; and, with all the engag- 
 ing simplicity of a child, he pours forth the matured 
 and comprehensive wisdom of experience. Uniting 
 the essence of wit, quickness of thought and facility 
 of combination, with that brevity which is its appro- 
 priate garb, he charms without eifort and teaches 
 without appearing the master. It is delightful to see 
 him in simple dress and simple language, Uke one of 
 the primitive instructors of mankind, condensing some 
 fine moral in the compass o'f a single sentence, or 
 
 [155] 
 
156 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 illustrating some glorious precept by a happy allegory 
 that embodies, and gives life and being to, the truth. 
 The weight of wisdom and benignity united with 
 good temper and unaffected manners, was never more 
 strikingly exemplified than in the influence of this 
 immortal Printer upon the country to which he was a 
 benefactor, and the age to which he was an orna- 
 ment. 
 
 In 1822, Mr. Paulding came before the public with 
 A SKETCH OF OLD ENGLAND, BY A NEW ENGLAND 
 MAN, published in two volumes by Charles Wiley, 
 New York. It is written in the shape of letters pur- 
 porting to have come from one in England to his 
 brother in New York ; but the coloring is not well 
 preserved. The gist of the work is a comparison 
 between matters and things in England and in this 
 country, of course very much to the prejudice of the 
 former. It had the fortune to provoke a review in 
 " The Quarterly " for January, 1824, seemingly from 
 the pen of Mr. John Murray himself, which is a clever 
 enough series of thrusts at points where our author 
 had certainly laid himself open to attack. It is not 
 as acrimonious as many of its congeners in The 
 Quarterly Review, but we have, as usual when treat- 
 ing of any thing American at that day, a specimen of 
 the tomahawk style. The reviewer, with great acu- 
 men, doubts " whether the volumes are not a mere 
 compilation from radical newspapers, treasonable 
 pamphlets, blasphemous libels, vulgar jest books, and 
 all that species of ribald literature." Which is pretty 
 well for one fling. 
 
 I confine myself to a single extract from this work. 
 
OLD ENGLAND. 157 
 
 It refers to a class of subjects which always excited 
 our author's spleen. Doubtless his banter was fright- 
 ful indeed in the eyes of the loyal English publisher. 
 
 THE EOYAL, AND THE PRESIDENTIAL, HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 The preparations for the king's coronation, and the 
 consequent marshalling of the household troops, to- 
 gether with the various claims to services of one kind 
 or other on the occasion, naturally turned my atten- 
 tion to the subject, and caused me to compare the 
 state of his majesty with that of our worthy presi- 
 dent. 
 
 In making some little researches into these matters, 
 it is inconceivable what a nest of officials I have 
 routed out of his majesty's chambers, wardrobe, cel- 
 lars, kitchen, scullery, stables, and dog-kennels. All 
 these are more or less privileged persons; most of 
 them paid for doing nothing, and all living at the 
 expense of the people. To me it was really amusing 
 to note the uncouth names of some of these offices, 
 and the pitiful functions of others, that are filled by 
 some of the highest nobility of the kingdom. It is in 
 these, as well as in more important particulars, that 
 the radical, essential, and irreconcilable difference 
 between this people and government, and ours, is 
 clearly indicated. Our people would laugh ready to 
 split their sides, or, if they did not laugh, they would 
 groan in spirit, to see these men, to whom they had 
 been accustomed to look up with reverence or respect, 
 deriving dignity, importance, and wealth, from the 
 performance of the most menial offices, such as 
 the lowest white man among them would not deign 
 to discharge for the highest. Iiideed, the whole 
 
158 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 arrangement of the court here would be irresistibly 
 ridiculous, were the farce not turned into a tragedy 
 by the additional burthens and privations the people 
 are obliged to sustain to support this mummery. As 
 our good people are, however, happily exempt from 
 such degrading impositions, they are free to make 
 themselves merry on the occasion. I will assist you 
 as far as I can, by entering into the details. 
 
 The first of these important personages is the Lord 
 High Steward of the king's household, formerly the 
 great master of the king's household, whose prov- 
 ince it is to superintend the state of his majesty's 
 chambers, kitchens, &c., and to whom all officers and 
 servants of the king's house, except those of the 
 chapel, chambers, and stable, are subject. His digni- 
 ty, state, and honour, are said to be exceedingly great, 
 for he attends bare-headed upon the king, and swears 
 the members of parliament. His salary and emolu- 
 ments are probably two hundred times greater than 
 those of the High Steward of the President of the 
 United States, whose functions are pretty similar, 
 except that he does not administer the oath to mem- 
 bers of congress, and is not, I believe, called lord. 
 
 The second great officer of the household troops is 
 the Lord Chamberlain, who, it is to be remembered, 
 is different from the Lord Great Chamberlain of 
 England. To the former belongs the superintend- 
 ence of aU the offices of the king's chamber, except 
 the precincts of the king's bedchamber, which territory 
 belongs to another great man, called the Groom of 
 the Stole. AU above stairs, to the very garret, is 
 subject to his control. He is also overseer of the 
 wardrobes, beds, tents, revels, music, comedians, hunt- 
 
OLD ENGLAND. 159 
 
 ing, messengers, trumpeters, drummers, artisans, handi- 
 craftsmen, physicians, apothecaries, surgeons, barbers, 
 and chaplains. In this capacity of Master of the 
 Revels and Comedians it is, that he exercises the 
 prerogative of licensing plays. The present Lord 
 Chamberlain is said to be a capital judge of Panto- 
 mime. The Lord Great Chamberlain is stiU greater 
 than he, being entitled to livery and lodging at court, 
 besides other mighty privileges. On the day of the 
 coronation, before the king rises from bed, the Lord 
 Great Chamberlain is privileged to bring him his shirt, 
 coif, and wearing apparel, for which he is entitled to 
 all the king's night clothes, and the bed and bed- 
 clothes, as a fee. Then he carries the coif, gloves, and 
 linen, at the coronation ; the sword, the scabbard, the 
 royal robe and crown, with privilege to undress and 
 attire the king. For these great services he reiceives 
 forty ells of crimson velvet for a robe. Lastly, he 
 serves the king on that day, before and after dinner, 
 with water to wash his hands, and has the basin and 
 towel for his pains. Only to see the vast difference 
 between a king, " by the grace of God," and a Presi- 
 dent, by the will of the people ! The persons, whose 
 functions approach nearest to these mighty lords, in the 
 President's establishment, are, or at least were, when 
 when I was last at Washington, two clever black fel- 
 lows, named Pompey and Paul, if I recollect right, 
 whose services did not cost the nation a farthing. Our 
 worthy President, it is true, is respected and beloved 
 by all the people ; wherever he goes he is received with 
 acclamations, and he was never shot at in his whole 
 life, except by the enemies of his country in battle. 
 But for all this, there is not a freeman of a white col- 
 
160 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 our, and in decent circumstances, born and bred in our 
 country, that would not feel himself degraded by the 
 performance of such menial services. These offices 
 are at present filled in England by a marquis and a 
 baroness, the latter by hereditary descent, who, I hope, 
 for the sake of decency, did not insist on her claim of 
 undressing the king at the coronation. 
 
 After the Great Chamberlain cometh the Master of 
 the Horse, Comes Stabuli, This great officer, as he is 
 called, hath now the ordering and superintendence of 
 the king's stables, horses, footmen, grooms, farriers, 
 coachmen, smiths, saddlers, &c. Besides all this, he, 
 and he only, — think of that, brother ! — has the privi- 
 lege of making use of any horses, pages, or footmen, 
 belonging to the king's stables. Another of bis great 
 privileges, is that of riding next behind the king, 
 leading the king's horse of state. The person at 
 present exercising these high functions is a duke, the 
 descendant of the greatest of the Grahams of Scot- 
 land. The President's coachman is the person most 
 nearly resembling the Master of the Horse, and re- 
 ceives, I suppose, about fifteen or twenty dollars a 
 month for his services. 
 
 Under one or other of these three mighty officers, all, 
 or nearly all, the subordinate ones are marshalled, and 
 an army of them there are, I assure you, numerous as 
 the drones of the hive, and, like them, for the most 
 part, living by the labours of others. There be " land 
 rats and water rats ; " Treasurers of the Household ; 
 Comptrollers; Cofferers; Masters of the Household; 
 Clerks of Green Cloth ; Clerks Comptrollers ; Gentle- 
 men of the Privy Chamber ; Gentlemen Pensioners ; 
 Gentlemen Cup-bearers ; Gentlemen Carvers ; Gentle- 
 
OLD ENGLAND. 161 
 
 men Sewers ; Gentlemen Ushers ; Gentlemen Grooms 
 of the Bedchamber ; " all honourable men," I assure 
 you ; and, what is of more consequence, aU well paid 
 by the people. 
 
 Next come the Pages of the Presence Chamber; 
 Grooms of the Great Chamber ; Pages of the Bed- 
 chamber and Backstairs ; Officers of the removing 
 Wardrobe ; standing Wardrobe keepers ; Laundresses 
 of the Body Linen ; Sergeants at Arms ; Messengers 
 of the Great Chamber ; Clerks of the Checque to the 
 Messengers in Ordinary ; all of them, too, " honoura- 
 ble men," or women, and most of them having depu- 
 ties, who have their deputies, &c. &c., ad infinitum. 
 In the rear of these, march " four and twenty fiddlers 
 all in a row," under the command of the Grand Mas- 
 ter of the Music. Next come the Sergeant Trum- 
 peters; Court Drummers; Masters of the King's 
 Tennis Court; locksmiths; card -makers; embroi- 
 derers; cabinet-makers; operators of the teeth; oar- 
 makers ; harpsichord - makers ; sergeant - skinners ; 
 distillers; pinmakers; perfumers; strewers of herbs; 
 apothecaries ; rat - killers ; mole-catchers ; necessary 
 women; and yeomen of the mouth — all very hon- 
 ourable persons, that serve the king, and are well paid 
 by the people. 
 
 I have not done yet. I must not forget the Master 
 Cooks, those important personages — nor the people 
 of his majesty's bakehouse, pantry, buttery, cellar, 
 spicery, confectionery, ewry ; the scourers, turnbroach- 
 ers, doorkeepers, soil - carriers, of the king's privy 
 kitchen, the queen's privy Icitchen, the household 
 kitchen, larder, scalding house, pastry, scullery, and 
 woodyard ; nor the harbingers, the porters of the gate, 
 
 11 
 
162 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 the bread-bearers, wine porters, table deckers, purvey- 
 ors, and pankeepers; not one of whom would ever 
 forgive me for not making honourable mention of 
 their several dignities, as servants of the king. A 
 vast number of these offices are of the most frivolous 
 land, as you may well believe, from the nature of the 
 functions ascribed to them. 
 
 Here too, as in every other department of the gov- 
 ernment, we see the same care taken to instil and 
 preserve a sense of dependence and inferiority, dis- 
 tinct from every moral, mental, or physical qualifica- 
 tion, and derived from the king's pleasure alone. One 
 grade of officers of the court is not allowed to ap- 
 proach nearer to the king's person than a certain room, 
 beyond which a superior order of beings, gifted with 
 superior privileges, inhabit or officiate. In short, from 
 those who are permitted to perform menial offices 
 about the king's person, to those who only come 
 within the outskirts of the court, there is a regular 
 gradation of inferiority. The great man, who hands 
 the king his shirt, looks down upon the little man, who 
 is only admitted into the king's presence ; while the 
 great man, who is allowed to come inside of a certain 
 door, considers the little man, that waits on the other 
 side, vastly and radically his inferior. The divinity 
 of a courtier is the king ; and whoever can get nearest 
 to him, partakes, in exactly the like proportion, of the 
 divine nature of majesty. 
 
XI. 
 
 1823. [^T. 45.] 
 
 KONINGSMAKKE, THE LONQ FINNE — LETTER TO IRVING ABOUT — GOVEE- 
 MOK PIPER — THE GOVERNOR'S "PALACE." 
 
 KONINGSMARKE, THE LONG FINNE, " a story of the 
 New World", comes next in the order of Mr. Pauld- 
 ing's publications. It was issued in two volumes by 
 Charles Wiley, New York, in the summer or au- 
 tumn of 1823. The title page bears this mysterious 
 legend : — 
 
 " This affair being taken into consideration, it was 
 adjudged that Koningsmarke, commonly called the 
 Long Finne, deserved to die; yet, in regard that 
 many concerned in the affair being simple and igno- 
 rant people, it was thought fit to order that the Long 
 
 Finne should be severely — Fragment of 
 
 minutes of Council in New York." 
 
 This novel is a sort of compromise between such 
 an unaffected story as our author would have been 
 likely to write without any disturbing influences, and 
 a desire to quiz the romantic school introduced and 
 upheld by the genius of Walter Scott. Bombie of 
 the Frizzled Head, an old negress, is an evident par- 
 ody of " Noma of the fitful head " ; but the parodist 
 occasionally forgets himself, and she becomes in real- 
 ity a boding and impressive creature. The work is 
 divided into Books, each with an initial chapter after 
 
 [163] 
 
164 LITERABY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 the manner of Fielding. These are, for the most 
 part, devoted to ironical praises of the modus operandi 
 of " the Great Unknown ". 
 
 The thread of the story is simple in the extreme. 
 Koningsmarke is a youth born in Finland during the 
 wars of Gustavus Adolphus, and left penniless by the 
 death of his father, a military adventurer. Finding 
 his way to the New World, he seeks the Swedish 
 colony on the Delaware, and there falls in with the 
 family of the Heer Piper, also a Fin, and now Gover- 
 nor. Arrested for having in his possession certain 
 interdicted coins, he is thrust into a jail, which, shortly 
 after, burns up, and he escapes at the last moment. 
 He saves a life or two, that of the Governor's daugh- 
 ter, for one, and of course the young folk faU in love. 
 Bombie of the Frizzled Head, however, becomes the 
 marplot of their affections, and indulges in mysterious 
 denunciations which have the effect of making the 
 lovers very miserable. The Governor gets into trou- 
 ble with his Indian neighbors, who attack and destroy 
 the village which is his capital, and carry Konings- 
 marke and his lady love into captivity. They are, 
 however, at last, ransomed by the Quakers of Coa- 
 quanock, now Philadelphia, and return in safety. Just 
 at this point of the story the English of New York 
 seize the colony in the name of their king, and 
 Koningsmarke is kidnapped by their fleet. The next 
 we hear of him he is about to be publicly whipped 
 and sold into slavery, on a false charge of rebellion 
 against the crown of England. He is saved, in the 
 nick of time, by the interposition of Governor Piper 
 and his daughter, and all ends happily. 
 
 On the whole, our author's acknowledgment in the 
 
KONINGSMARKE. 166 
 
 course of the work is not amiss: — " To confess the 
 honest truth, we are, as has most likely been discov- 
 ered ere this, rather new in the trade of novel- writing, 
 having been partly induced to enter upon it, as people 
 engage in the tobacco or grocery line, from seeing 
 others prosper mightily in the business." 
 
 As usual heretofore, we find some account of the 
 composition of this work in the correspondence with 
 Irving. The author writes. New York, March 20th, 
 1824: — 
 
 The work of mine you mention having read with pleasure, 
 was written for no earthly purpose but to pass the leisure 
 hours of about six weeks that I was left alone at Washington, 
 Gertrude and the children being on a visit to New York. 
 My stay in this city being limited, in order to have thfe oppor- 
 tunity of correcting the sheets, I commenced the printing 
 before the book was finished. In the interim I got the inter- 
 mitting fever, as I mentioned ; and the latter part was writ- 
 ten during the intervals between the attacks of that amusing 
 disorder. No doubt you have observed symptoms of the 
 intermittent in various parts of the book. My motives for 
 " tilting " as you term it, at some of the fashionable English 
 writers, are altogether national, and devoid of any personal 
 feeling. "We Americans are treated so scurvily by the Eng- 
 lish press that my feelings often rise against this persevering 
 ill-nature, and I am prompted to retaliate. Whatever may 
 be its effect abroad, at home it has its influence in maintain- 
 ing some little independence of taste and judgment. How- 
 ever, I learn from all quarters that Sir Walter is a fine 
 liberal fellow, and his being your friend, shall in the future, 
 as indeed it ought to have been in the past, render him sacred 
 to me. As the gnat said to the eagle, " I'll spare him here- 
 after." 
 
 I select sufficient matter from these volumes to out- 
 
166 LITERAEY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 line the character of the Hear Piper, the best in the 
 book. Filled always with a grand prescience of the 
 imperial progress of this country, the small importance 
 of the great authorities of a petty colony tickled our 
 author's fancy amazingly. On the first introduction 
 of the magnate, he accordingly hits him off in an 
 amusing style. 
 
 GOVEENOE PIPER. 
 
 " Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, 
 Where is the peek of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?" 
 
 The curious traveller along the western bank of the 
 Delaware river will hardly fail to notice some few 
 scattered remains, such as parts of old walls, and 
 fragrnents of chimneys, which indicate where once 
 stood the famous fort and town of Elsingburgh, one 
 of the earliest settlements of the Swedes in this coun- 
 try. The precise spot these ruins occupy we shall 
 not point out, since it is our present intention to give 
 such an accurate description, that it cannot be mis- 
 taken by a reader of common sagacity. 
 
 At the time this history commences; that is to say, 
 somewhere about the middle of the sixteenth century, 
 a period of very remote antiquity considering the 
 extreme juvenility of our country, this important little 
 post was governed by the Heer Peter Piper, a short 
 thickset person, of German parentage, whose dress, 
 rain or shine, week days or Sundays, in peace or war, 
 in winter and summer, was a suit of oUve-coloured 
 velvet, ornamented with ebony buttons. A picture 
 still preserved in the Piper family, represents him 
 with a round, and somewhat full face, a good deal 
 wrinlded; sturdy short legs, thin at the anldes, and 
 
GOVERNOR. PIPER. 167 
 
 redundant at the calves ; square-toed shoes, and square 
 buckles of a yellowish hue, but whether of gold or 
 brass is impossible to decide at this remote period. 
 We would give the world, that is to say, all that part 
 of it which is at present in our possession, namely, a 
 magnificent castle in the air, to be able to satisfy the 
 doubts of our readers in respect to the problem 
 whether the Heer Peter Piper wore a cocked hat. 
 But as the painter, with an unpardonable negligence, 
 and a total disregard to posterity, has chosen to repre- 
 sent hiih bareheaded, we can only say, that his poU 
 was ordinarily covered with a thick crop of hair that 
 curled rather crabbedly about his forehead and ears. 
 It hath been aptly remarked by close observers of 
 human nature, that this species of petulant curl is 
 almost the invariable concomitant of an irritable, 
 testy, impatient temper, which, as it were, crisps and 
 writhes about in emulation of the twisted locks. 
 
 Certain it is that, whatever exceptions may occur 
 to the general rule, the Heer Piper was not one of 
 them, he being, as the course of our history will fully 
 substantiate, an exceeding little tyrant, that fell into 
 mortal passions about nothing, broke his nose over 
 every straw that lay in his way, and was seldom to 
 be found in any sort of good humour, except when he 
 had sworn vengeance at every soul that excited his 
 wrath. Indeed, to say truth, he was one of those 
 blustering little bodies, who differ entirely from those 
 who are said to be no heroes to their vale-t>de-chambre, 
 since it was said of him that he was a hero to nobody 
 but his servants and dependents, whom he bullied 
 exceedingly. The good people of Elsingburgh called 
 him, behind his back, Pepper Pot Peter, in double 
 
168 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 allusion to the fiery nature of his talk and his fond- 
 ness for the dish known among our ancestors by that 
 name, and remarkable for its high seasoning. The dis- 
 tich placed at the head of this chapter, was made Upon 
 the Heer Peter, by a wag of the day, who excelled in 
 alliterative poetry, and of whom we shall say more 
 anon, if we do not forget it in the multiplicity of 
 adventureg we intend to incorporate into this true 
 history. But as we mean to leave a good part of our 
 work for the imagination of the reader to supply to 
 the best of his abilities, we will let the character of 
 Governor Piper develop itself in his future conduct, 
 and proceed with our story. 
 
 One sultry afternoon in the month of July, the Heer 
 Peter having finished his dinner by one o'clock, was 
 sitting in his great arm chair, under the shade of a 
 noble elm, (the stump of which is still to be seen, and 
 being hollow, serves for a notable pig sty), smoking 
 his pipe as was his custom, and ruminating in a 
 luxurious state of imbecility between sleeping and 
 waking. The river in front spread out into an expan- 
 sive lake, smooth and bright as a looking glass ; the 
 leaves hung almost lifeless on the trees, for there was 
 not a breath of air stirring; the cattle stood in the 
 water, lashing the flies lazily with their tails ; the tur- 
 keys sought the shade with their bills wide open, 
 gasping for breath'; and aU nature, animate as well 
 as inanimate, displayed that lassitude which is the 
 consequence of excessive heat. 
 
 The Heer sat with his eyes closed, and we will not 
 swear that he was not at this precise moment fast 
 asleep, although the smoke of his pipe continued to 
 ascend at regular intervals, in a perpendicular column, 
 
GOVERNOR PIPER. 169 
 
 insomuch that it was affirmed by Wolfgang Lang- 
 fanger and some of his friends and counsellors, that 
 the Heer Peter did sometimes smoke instinctively, as 
 a man breathes, in his sleep. However this may be, 
 whether sleeping or waking, the Governor was sud- 
 denly roused by the intrusion of one Lob Dotterel, a 
 constable and busybody, who considered himself, in 
 virtue of his office, at full liberty to poke his proboscis 
 into every hole and corner, and to pry into the secret 
 as well as public actions of every soul in the village. 
 It is astonishing what a triumph it was to Lob Dot- 
 terel, to catch any body tripping ; he considered it a 
 proof of his vigilance and sagacity. And here, lest 
 the reader should do Master Dotterel wrong, in sup- 
 posing that the prospect of bribes or fees stimulated 
 him to activity, we will aver it as our belief, that he 
 was governed by no such sordid motive, but acted 
 upon an instinct similar to that of a well-bred pointer 
 dog, who is ever seen wagging his tail with great 
 delight when he brings in game, although he neither 
 expects to be rewarded, nor to share in the spoil, — at 
 least so far as we have been able to penetrate his 
 motives of action. 
 
 Master Dotterel was backed, on the occasion afore- 
 said, by one Restore Gosling, and Master Oldale, 
 keeper of the Indian Queen, the most fashionable, 
 not to say the only, tavern, in the village of Elsing- 
 burgh. These three worthies had in custody a taU, 
 straight, light-complexioned, blue-eyed youth, who 
 signified his contempt for the accusation, whatever 
 it might be, the constable. Master Restore Gosling, 
 Master Oldale, and the Heer Peter himself, by rub- 
 bing his chin on either side with his thumb and 
 
170 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 fingers, and whistling Yankee Doodle, or any other 
 tune that doth not involve a horrible anachronism. 
 
 There are three things a real genuine great man 
 cannot bear; to wit: — to do business after dinner — 
 to be disturbed in his meditations — or to suspect 
 that the little people below him do not think him so 
 great a person as he is inclined to think himself. All 
 these causes combined to put the Heer Peter in a bad 
 humour, insomuch that he privately communed with 
 himself that he would tickle this whistling, chin- 
 scraping stripling. 
 
 " Well, culprit," cried the Heer, with a formidable 
 aspect of authority — " Well, culprit, what is your 
 crime ? I can see with half an eye you're no better 
 than you should be." 
 
 " That's no more than may be said of most people, 
 I believe," returned the youth, with gi-eat compo- 
 sure. 
 
 " Answer me, sirrah," quoth the Heer, " what is thy 
 crime, I say ? " 
 
 " Ask these gentlemen," said the other. 
 
 " What — eh ! you can't confess, hey ! an old 
 offender, I warrant me. I'U tickle you before I've 
 done with you. What's thy name — whence came 
 you — and whither art thou going, culprit ? " 
 
 " My name," replied the fair tall youth, " is Ko- 
 ningsmarke, surnamed the Long Finne ; I came from 
 the Hoarkill, and I am going to jail, I presume, if I 
 may augur aught from your Excellency's look, and 
 the hard names you are pleased to bestow on me." 
 
 Nothing is so provoking to the majesty of a great 
 man as the self-possession of a little one. The Heer 
 Peter Piper began to suspect that the Long Finne 
 
GOTEENOB PIPER. 171 
 
 did not stand in sufficient awe of his dignity and 
 authority, a suspicion than which nothing could put 
 him in a greater passion. He addressed Master 
 Dotterel, and demanded to know for what offence the 
 culprit was brought before him, in a tone which Lob 
 perfectly understood as encouragement not to suppress 
 any part of the prisoner's guilt. Lob hereupon re- 
 ferred the Heer to Master Oldale, who referred him 
 to Restore Gosling, who had laid the information. 
 This apparent disposition to shift the onus prohandi 
 caused additional wrath in the Governor, who began 
 to tremble lest the Long Finne might give him the 
 slip, and escape the consequences of his contempt of 
 authority. He thundered forth a command to Gos- 
 ling to state all he knew against the culprit; laying 
 hard emphasis on the word " all." 
 
 Master Gosling, after divers scratches of the head, 
 such as my Lord Byron indulgeth in when he writeth 
 poetry, gathered himself together, and said as fol- 
 lows — not deposed, for the Heer held it an undue 
 indulgence to prisoners to put the witnesses against 
 them to their Bible oath — Master Gosling stated, 
 that he had seen the young man, who called himself 
 Koningsmarke, or the Long Finne, take out of his 
 pocket a handful of Mark Newby's halfpence, or, as 
 they were commonly called, Pat's halfpence, which 
 every body knew were prohibited being brought into 
 the dominions of Sweden, under penalty of confisca- 
 tion of the money ; one half to the informer, and the 
 other half to his Sacred Majesty, the King of Sweden, 
 Denmark, Norway, and the Goths. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " exclaimed the Heer, rubbing his hands ; 
 "this looks like conspiracy and plot, with a ven- 
 
172 LITEEART LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 geance. I should not be surprised if the Pope and 
 
 the d 1 were at the bottom of this." And here 
 
 we will remind the reader that this was about the 
 time that the manufacturing of plots, Popish and 
 Presbyterian, Meal Tub and Rye House, flourished 
 so luxuriantly, under the fruitful invention of Shaftes- 
 bury, Oates, Tongue, Dugdale, Bedlow, and others. 
 Now the Heer Peter always took pattern after the old 
 countries, insomuch that whenever a plot came out in 
 England, or elsewhere, he forthwith got up another 
 at Elsingburgh, as nearly like it as possible. In one 
 word, he imitated all the pranks, freaks and fooleries 
 of royalty, as an ape does those of a man. At the 
 period, too, which this history is about to commemo- 
 rate, there were terrible jealousies and heart-burnings 
 betwixt the representatives of royalty in the adjoin- 
 ing or neighbouring colonies of New-Jersey, Pennsyl- 
 vania, Maryland, New- York, and Connecticut. The 
 different monarchs of Europe had not only given 
 away with astonishing liberality what did not belong 
 to them, in this new world, but given it away over 
 and over again to different persons, so that it was 
 next to impossible either to settle the boundaries of 
 the various grants, or to ascertain who was the real 
 proprietor of the soil. As to the Indians, they were 
 out of the question. Now, though these tracts were, 
 ninety-nine parts in a hundred, a perfect wilderness, 
 and the number of inhabitants as one to a hundred 
 square miles, yet did these potentates, and especially 
 their governors, feel great solicitude lest they should 
 be stinted for elbow-room. They were, consequently, 
 always bickering about boundaries, and disputing 
 every inch of wilderness most manfully, by protest 
 and proclamation. 
 
GOTEENOE PIPER. 173 
 
 The Heer Piper governed a territory by right of 
 discovery, grant, possession, and what not, something 
 larger than Sweden, and which, at the period of this 
 history, contained exactly (by census) three hundred 
 and sixty-eight souls, exclusive of Indians. It is 
 therefore little to be wondered at, if, being as he 
 was, a long-headed man, metaphorically speaking, 
 he should begin to look out in time for the comfort 
 of the immense population, which he foresaw must 
 speedily be pressed for room. His jealousy was of 
 course continually squinting at his neighbours, most 
 especially the Quakers at Coaquanock, and the Ro- 
 man Catholics, who about this time settled at St. 
 Mary's under Leonard Calvert. He therefore pricked 
 up his ears, and smelt a plot, at the very sound of 
 Mark Newby's halfpence, a coin then circulating in 
 West Jersey and Coaquanock, and forthwith set down 
 the Long Finne as an emissary from the Quakers, 
 who, he swore, although they would not fight, had 
 various ways of getting possession of his territories, 
 much more eifectual than by arms. Moreover, he ab- 
 horred them because they would not pull off their 
 hats to the representative of Gustavus Adolphus, and, 
 as he affirmed, were a people who always expected 
 manners from others, although they gave none them- 
 selves. In addition to these causes of disgust, it was 
 rumoured, that his Excellency the Heer, being once 
 riding out near Coaquanock, met a Quaker driving a 
 gi-eat wagon, who refusing to turn either to the right 
 or to the left, caused Peter Piper in attempting to 
 pass to be precipitated into a slough. Let me tell the 
 reader, that trifles less than these have more than 
 once set mankind together by the ears, and caused 
 the rivers of the earth to run red with blood. 
 
174 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Under the influence of these statesmanlike views, 
 jealousies, and antipathies, the Heer viewed the pos- 
 session of such a quantity of Mark Newby's half- 
 pence as a suspicious circumstance, and indeed had 
 little doubt, in his own mind, that the Long Finne 
 had come into the settlement to seduce it from its 
 allegiance to the great Gustavus, by actual bribery. 
 The reader may smile at the idea of coiTupting a 
 community with halfpence, now that paper money is 
 so plenty that dollars fly about like may-flies in the 
 spring, and that it sometimes actually takes a hun- 
 dred of these to purchase a man's conscience. But 
 we will make bold to tell him, his smile only betrays 
 an utter ignorance of the simplicity of those times, 
 when a penny was deemed equal to six white and 
 four black wampum ; and a tract of land, larger than 
 a German principality, was at one time purchased for 
 sixty tobacco-boxes, one hundred and twenty pipes, 
 one hundred Jew's-harps, and a quantity of red paint. 
 It hath been shrewdly observed, that the value of 
 money regulates the consciences of men, as it does 
 every other article of trade, so that the suspicion of 
 Governor Piper was not quite so ridiculous as many 
 uninformed readers may be inclined to suppose at 
 first sight. This explanation we afford gratuitously, 
 hinting, at the same time, that as it is no part of our 
 plan to make things appear probable, or actions con- 
 sistent, we shall not often display a similar disposi- 
 tion to account for what happens. 
 
 " Long Finne," said the Heer, after considerable 
 cogitation — " Long Finne, thou art found guilty of 
 suspicion of traitorous designs against the authority 
 of his sacred majesty, Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, 
 
GOVERNOR PIPER. 175 
 
 and in order that thou mayest have time and oppor- 
 tunity to clear up thy character, we sentence thee to 
 be imprisoned till thine innocence is demonstrated, or 
 thou shalt confess thy guUt." 
 
 By this time half the village, at least, was collected, 
 as is usual on these occasions, when they flock to 
 see a criminal, as porpoises gather about a wounded 
 mate, not to succour, but to worry him. The whole 
 assembly were struck with astonishment at the wis- 
 dom of Governor Piper's decision, which they looked 
 upon as dictated by blind Justice herself. Not so the 
 Long Finne, who, like most unreasonable persons, 
 that are seldom satisfied with law or equity when it 
 goes against them, seemed inclined to remonstrate. 
 But the Heer, whose maxim it was to punish first 
 and pity afterward, forthwith commanded him to be 
 quiet, quoting his favourite saying, " Sirrah, if we 
 both talk at once, how are we to understand one 
 another ? " 
 
 As they were taking him from the presence of the 
 Governor to convey him to prison, the tall, fair youth, 
 turned his eye mildly, yet significantly, toward the 
 Heer, and pronounced in a low voice the words, 
 " Caspar Steinmets." " What ! who ! whose name 
 did you utter?" exclaimed his excellency in great 
 agitation — 
 
 " Caspar Steinmets " — repeated the youth. 
 
 " What of him ? " — rejoined the Heer. 
 
 " I am his nephew " — answered the Long Finne. 
 " The friend of your youth would be little obliged to 
 you, could he see you hurrying the son of his bosom 
 to a prison, because he possessed a handful of Mark 
 Newby's halfpence." 
 
176 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " Pish!" cried the Heer — " I never heard that old 
 Caspar Steinmets had a nephew, and I don't believe 
 a word of it.'' 
 
 " He had a sister, who married a gentleman of 
 Finland, called Colonel Koningsmarke, against the 
 wishes of her friends. She was discarded, and her 
 name never mentioned. On the death of both my 
 parents, my uncle adopted me, but he died also, not 
 long after you sailed for the new world. — Look, sir, 
 do you know this picture 1 " 
 
 " Blood of my heart," exclaimed the Heer, contem- 
 plating the miniature, " but this is old Caspar Stein- 
 mets, sure enough ! Ah ! honest, jolly old Caspar ! many 
 a time have thou and I drunk, fought, and raked to- 
 gether, in bonny Finland ! But for aU that, culprit, thou 
 shalt not escape justice, until thou hast accounted to 
 me for the possession of this picture, which hath mar- 
 vellously the appearance of stolen goods." 
 
 " Stolen goods, sir ! " interrupted the fair youth, 
 passionately; but, as if recollecting himself, he re- 
 lapsed into an air of unconquerable serenity, and 
 began to whistle in an under tone. 
 
 " Ay, marry, stolen goods ! I shall forthwith com- 
 mit thee to prison, and retain this trinket till thou 
 provest property, and payest all charges. Take him 
 away, master constable." 
 
 The youth seemed about to remonstrate, but again, 
 as if suddenly recoUecting himself, remained silent, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and quietly submitted to be 
 conducted to the prison, followed by the crowd, which 
 usually, on such occasions, volunteers as an honoura- 
 ble escort to heroes of the brideweU and quarter ses- 
 sions. But nothing could equal the triumph of Lob 
 
GOVERNOR PIPER. 177 
 
 Dotterel, who looked upon the establishing of a man's 
 innocence as lessening the importance of a constable, 
 who, he affirmed, acquired dignity and consequence in 
 exact proportion to the crimes of mankind. 
 
 Having despatched this weighty business, the Heer 
 Piper knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and returned 
 to the gubernatorial mansion, with the fuU resolution 
 of communicating the whole affair to the Chancellor 
 Oxenstiern. 
 
 Pepper-pot though he be in one aspect, he is else- 
 where described as having " a certain mellowness 
 about him that caused his heart to curvet and caper 
 at the sight of human happiness." 
 
 Nor does he lack courage. When his village is 
 nearly lost, he is urged by Koningsmarke to save him- 
 self. " ' Der Teufel,^ quoth the Heer, ' go thou — I 
 must be the last man that deserts his post; — 
 away.' " 
 
 He comes closer to our hearts after his daughter 
 has been carried off by the savages. 
 
 "All this while the poor Heer remained without a 
 hope, without a comforter, his mind ever running on 
 the blue-eyed maiden he had, peradventure, lost for 
 ever. The judgment which, according to aunt Edith's 
 theory, had fallen upon his head, for the punishment 
 of his sinful delights in contemplating the mild virtues 
 and gentle, unobtrusive charms of his duteous, affec- 
 tionate daughter, seemed only to bind him more closely 
 to the earth, for he could think of nought but her. 
 His sole employment was in doing nothing, although 
 he was incapable of sitting still more than a minute at 
 a time. Like Bombie of the Frizzled Head, he wan- 
 
 12 
 
178 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 dered and wandered about, almost without purpose, 
 or even consciousness, untU some sound, some object, 
 some nothing as it would seem, struck upon one of 
 those chords by which every thing that is beautiful or 
 sweet in nature is connected with the memory of 
 those we love, and have lost. Then his trembling lip, 
 and wan, wet eye, bore testimony, that the light still 
 continued to burn, though the lamp which held it 
 seemed quite broken to pieces." 
 
 And the re-union of father and child is told, in a 
 touching manner. 
 
 " As the Heer thus indulged himself in melancholy 
 ponderings, his attention was called off by a distant 
 noise, that came to his ear like the shouts of joyful 
 exultation. He listened, but again all was silent. 
 What can it mean, thought he. But the thought was 
 only momentary, and he sunk into his usual train of 
 dark and dismal contemplation. Again the shout was 
 repeated, stiU nearer, by the limber tongues of the 
 village train, whose unladen spirits were ever ready to 
 seize occasions for noise and jollity. Nearer, and stiU 
 nearer, came the rout, until at length the attention of 
 the Heer was roused by something which struck upon 
 his heart like a repetition of Christina's name. He 
 started up, and, hurrying with faltering steps to the 
 window, beheld, a little way off, a crowd of people, in 
 the midst of which seemed to be a taU, stately figure, 
 mounted on horseback, with something that looked 
 like a woman seated behind him. The blurring of 
 his aged eyes would not permit him to distinguish any 
 more. Yet — and the hope glanced upon his heart 
 like lightning — yet, if it should be she, returning at 
 last to his arms ! As the eye, when long accustomed 
 
GOVERNOR PIPER, 1T9 
 
 to darkness, shuts close its lids at the slightest gleam 
 of light, so does the mortal spirit, weakened by age, 
 long suffering, melancholy thoughts, and dark forebod- 
 ings, become overpowered by the first ray of hope 
 that glances into its gloomy recesses. It often hap- 
 pens, too, that the ardent desire to realize a darling 
 hope, is checked by an apprehension that certainty, 
 instead of leading to fruition, will only lead to disap- 
 pointment. To minds naturally weak, or weakened 
 by long suffering, uncertainty is less painful than to 
 know the worst. 
 
 " From one or both of these causes, the good Heer, 
 instead of going forth to learn the truth, returned 
 trembling to his chair, and there sat waiting, almost 
 in a state of insensibility, the approach of the 
 crowd. 
 
 " ' My father ! where, where is he ? ' exclaimed a voice 
 that went to the innermost soul of the old man, who 
 sat riveted to his seat, without the power of speech or 
 motion. A moment after, a figure rushed in, and, 
 faUing at his feet, kissed his hands, and wept upon 
 them. 
 
 "'My father, hast thou forgotten Christina, — or. 
 Oh ! heavenly powers ! perhaps he has forgotten him- 
 self! Speak to me, dear father, or kiss me, or press my 
 hand — Oh, do something to show thou rememberest 
 and lovest thy child.' 
 
 " The Heer pressed her hand, in token that he had 
 not forgotten his daughter, but it was some minutes 
 before he became sufficiently recovered to take her to 
 his bosom, weep over, and bless her. When he did, 
 the scene was so moving, that the spectators shed 
 tears of sympathy; and even the dry and parched 
 
180 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 cheeks of Shadrach Moneypenny exhibited indications 
 of moisture." 
 
 After sorrow, comes a quiet evening to his life. 
 
 " The worthy Heer Piper lived happily to a patri- 
 archal old age, and though he sometimes sighed over 
 the recollection of his departed glories, it was but a 
 momentary feeling, which the duteous attentions of 
 his daughter and the smiles of his grandchildren soon 
 soothed away. He seldom went from home, except 
 once a year to visit his good friend William Penn, and 
 the worthy Shadrach Moneypenny, with whom he had 
 many a bout concerning the wearing of hats, the pro- 
 priety of making bows, and the moving of the spirit. 
 But, so far from making any impression on the dry 
 soil of Shadrach, it was observed that whenever he 
 saw the Heer approaching he would adjust his beaver 
 with most determined emphasis, and give it a smart 
 rap on the crown, as if in defiance of his old antago- 
 nist. 
 
 " But the Heer and his daughter could never agree 
 on the subject of rural economy. Christina was for 
 planting flowers and ornamental shrubs, and beautify- 
 ing all around ; whUe the Heer had a most pestilent 
 propensity for the useful, and valued a patch of cab- 
 bages above a bed of tulips of a thousand dyes. 
 Christina at length succeeded so far as to make him 
 promise to pay some little attention to appearances, 
 and cultivate a few favorite flowers; which engage- 
 ment he conscientiously kept, by setting out a notable 
 bed of cauliflowers." 
 
 As I have devoted considerable space to the Gov- 
 ernor, I shall give a little to his official residence, or 
 
KONINGSMABKE. 181 
 
 "palace, as he called it, videlicet, a two-story brick 
 house, with a steep roof, covered with fiery red tiles, 
 lapping over each other like the scales of a drum fish. 
 The bricks which composed the walls of the palace 
 were of the same dusky hue of red, so that the whole 
 had the appearance of a vast oven, just heated for a 
 batch of bread. Agreeably to the fashion of the 
 times, the house was of little depth, the windows of 
 the same room opening to both front and rear; but 
 then it made up in length what it wanted in depth, 
 and when not taken in profile, had a very imposing 
 appearance." 
 
 So much for the Heer Piper. The other characters 
 in the book are neatly sketched, but room to intro- 
 duce them is wanting. 
 
XII. 
 
 1823-1825. [Mt. 45-47.J 
 
 ■ MAVT AGEirr POK NEW YORK — GEORGE 1* STOKER — I.ETTER TO IK- 
 VING — JOHN BULL IN AMERICA; OR, THE HEW MUNCHAUSEH — LET- 
 TERS TO IRVING ABOUT — WELL RECEIVED IN ENGLAND — G. KEMBLE'S 
 SETTLEMENT AT COLD SPRING — ANADOSTAN — LOST ! 
 
 Not long after the publication of " Koningsmarke " 
 Mr. Paulding removed from Washington to New 
 York. This change of residence was caused by the 
 death of his father-in-law, Mr. Kemble, in July, 1823. 
 He resigned the position of Secretary of the Board of 
 Navy Commissioners, November 8th, 1823, and was 
 appointed Navy Agent for New York by President 
 Monroe, January 8th, 1824. 
 
 Mr. Paulding found Mr. George L. Storer already 
 in the office. Him he retained as chief clerk, and was 
 most fortunate in securing his services. Together for 
 fourteen years, he proved an associate most desirable 
 in every respect, who relieved his principal from all 
 the detail of the Agency. 
 
 On the 20th of March, 1824, Paulding writes to 
 Irving, from New York; — a long letter, detailing 
 these changes, and other matters. I make brief ex- 
 tracts, prefacing them with the remark that the 
 " Mount Kemble " referred to was a property in New 
 Jersey that had long been in the family of his wife, 
 and that the " brother William " mentioned is the one 
 who first procured him employment in the city. 
 [182] 
 
LETTER TO IRVING. 183 
 
 You have heard of my transfer to New York, and all I 
 shall say of it is that the situation is specially agreeable on 
 account of there being little to do in it, whereby I am afforded 
 good time for scribbling, which has become a most incurable 
 habit with me, absolutely necessary to kill time. It is also 
 agreeable, on the score of being the free unsolicited gift of 
 the President, who was closely besieged by fifty-three candi- 
 dates. I had resigned my situation at Washington previous 
 to this appointment, with a view to settle at Mount Kemble. 
 
 In the division of the estate, the old house, which we have 
 so often haunted, in Whitehall Street, has fallen to my share. 
 Here I have set up my tent, and if living in a great house 
 constitutes a great man after the fashion of New York, a great 
 man am I, at your service. I fear however, I shall never 
 realize your forebodings in regard to the honours of an associ- 
 ation with the Rutgers, the Willets, and the Gelstons, or 
 arrive at the apotheosis of the Cocked Hat. My brother 
 William is already Brigadier- General and Mayor of the city, 
 and these are sufficient glories for one family. StiU I can't 
 help hoping with you that we shall yet hang our hats on the 
 next peg before we die 
 
 When you look at the length of this letter, [eight closely- 
 written pages] and call to mind that all our family are either 
 constantly or occasionally sojourners in the Castle of Indo- 
 lence, you will estimate it accordingly. It is needless for me 
 to say that I rejoice in the reputation you have so justly 
 acquired, and that I anticipate the period, when, having real- 
 ized all the pleasure reputation can give, you will turn toward 
 home, hang up your hat among us, and astonish our ears with 
 a thousand stories of the littleness of greatness. You must 
 not put this off, by the way, till we are both too old to an- 
 ticipate the propriety of a few honest, frisky, old-fashioned 
 jollifications. 
 
 JOHN BUXl- IN AMERICA; OR, THE NEW MUNCHAU- 
 SEN, was the next publication of Mr. Paulding, 
 
184 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 brought out in 1825 in one volume by Charles Wiley, 
 New York. This is a broad caricature, if that be 
 possible, of the early type of British traveller in the 
 United States. He had hitherto defended his coun- 
 try seriously from this sort of man ; he now took up 
 the more effectual weapon of ridicule. This work 
 will be included in the republication about to be 
 made. The following detail to Irving, gives the mel- 
 ancholy circumstances under which it was written, 
 and furnishes another illustration of the mysterious 
 worldngs of the human mind. 
 
 Ne-w Yoke, 31st Augt. 1825. 
 We have had a heavy hand laid upon us about three months 
 ago in the loss of that little boy, who, I think, I once told 
 you we had named after our brother William Irving, and 
 who, after hngering almost eight months in some inscrutable 
 disorder which baffled all remedies, died at last, with an eye 
 as bright, and a mind as clear, as the day he was taken ill. 
 ... It was in the midst of these anxieties I wrote the little 
 book which perhaps you have seen, and which the world 
 little suspects was the product of a season of gloomy antici- 
 pation — of intervals of watching and nursing our poor boy. 
 
 Beheve me, my dear Washington, I have thus opened my 
 heart to you, because I felt that though long absent from, and 
 distant from, each other, with little communication and less 
 profession, there was that in your recollections of the past" 
 which would induce you always to feel an interest in my his- 
 tory. Once therefore, for the first and last time, I have given 
 you my feelings on the subject of the only calamity I have 
 ever for a moment sunk under. I am relieved by the dis- 
 closure — and have said to you all I ever mean to say on the 
 subject. 
 
 The letter closes with some family notices. 
 
 In the course of last winter I lost my good old father, who 
 
JOHN BULL IN AMERICA. 185 
 
 died ninety years old. . . . My mother is still living in health 
 and comfort at Tarrytown. Our worthy Uncle John is wax- 
 ing old and infirm, and no more aspires to buxom widows, or 
 blooming maidens. Yet he still admires a pretty girl. 
 
 This John Paulding, uncle of his namesake the 
 captor of Andr^, as well as of our author, was 
 the original of the fine sketch in the first series of 
 Salmagundi, entitled " Mine Uncle John." 
 
 " John Bull in America " is alluded to in the next 
 letter to Irving, under date of September 3d, 1825. 
 
 I am glad you were amused with the squib against the Quar- 
 terly. You know under what circumstances it was written, 
 and I have only to add in excuse for its crudities, that it was 
 actually begun and finished in three weeks' time. Asa mere 
 temporary thing, I did not in truth think it worth while to 
 take any pains with its revisal ; and circumstances occurred 
 that tore my mind from all such matters. That it should be 
 well received in England is what I never anticipated, and is 
 one of the absolute eccentricities of John Bull, I think. 
 
 This letter concludes : — 
 
 Remember me affectionately to the Doctor, who I hope 
 will soon be quite well. I hope yet to see you and him 
 enjoying the same hospitalities in this house you were accus- 
 tomed to do, when it was inhabited by a much better man 
 than myself. I would get tipsy on the occasion, though it 
 cost me a week's headache. 
 
 Farewell my dear Washington — though you are not 
 building houses like Brevoort, or villages like unto Gouv, 
 you are building what wiU last longer than either. God 
 bless you. 
 
 The allusion to Kemble has in view a settlement 
 he had made in the spring of 1817, at Coldspring, 
 Putnam County, New York, where he originated 
 
186 UTEEART LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 iron works now grown into a very large establish- 
 ment. 
 
 This year, 1825, the poetic impulse was aroused in 
 our author again. The following verses are no doubt 
 a reminiscence of his life at "Washington. 
 
 ANADOSTAN. 
 There is a little grassy isle 
 That parts Potomac's ample tide, 
 Where nature wears her gayest smile, 
 And nature's choicest sweets abide. 
 
 On either side, and all around, 
 The weltering wave is seen to flow. 
 Noiseless, or, if you hear a sound, 
 'Tis but a murmur, soft and low. 
 
 With the thick groves the gentle flood 
 Playing at hide and seek appears. 
 Now glittering through the waving wood, 
 Now lost as one its margin nears. 
 
 It seems as nought but holy rest 
 Could find a home in that fair spot ; 
 It seems as mortal might be blessed. 
 If there were cast his happy lot. 
 
 There's not a sound that greets the ear 
 But lulls the worn and weary soul ; 
 There's not a sight that meets us here 
 But calms the breast where passions roll. 
 
 The great trees, nodding to and fro 
 In stately conclaves not a few, 
 Whisper as secretly and slow 
 As bashful lovers ever do. 
 
 The wild birds sing their roundelay. 
 For no rude sportsman spoils their glee, 
 And, all the live-long summer day. 
 Delight the ear with minstrelsy. 
 
ANADOSTAN. 187 
 
 And careless up and down they fly, 
 Nor heed the stranger passing near ; 
 For undisturbed they cleave the sky, 
 And undisturbed their young they rear. 
 
 And oh ! how sweet the roses bloom. 
 And sweet the ruddy clover spreads ; 
 And, springing from earth's fruitful womb. 
 How thick the violets lift their heads ! 
 
 And, when the sun's last splendors beam 
 Upon the light clouds in the West, 
 The glassy surface of the stream 
 What ever changing tints invest ! 
 
 At first a gorgeous red prevails ; 
 And next, a glowing purple hue ; 
 To feebler gleams the glory pales ; 
 Then comes a deep, fast-fading, blue. 
 
 Then idles in the pensive hour. 
 When Twilight, wrapped in robe of gray. 
 Steals softly from her secret bower. 
 And shuts the gates of parting day. 
 
 Then hies the fire-fly gayly out, 
 And trims his lamp at evening's fall. 
 To light the little rabble rout 
 Of Fairies to their nightly ball. 
 
 The tinkling bell, the plashing oar, 
 The buzzing of the insect throng. 
 The laugh that echoes from the shore. 
 The unseen thrush's vesper song — 
 
 Combined with the mild influence 
 Of sober Evening's matron sway, 
 'Gainst worldly -wish give strong defence, 
 And chase all sinful thought away. 
 
188 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 At such an Lour I long to rove 
 Along the paths of that fair isle, 
 With those who simple nature love, 
 Those who, like Nature, know no guile. 
 
 And I, at such an hour Tiave roved 
 Along the paths of that fair isle, 
 With one who simple nature loved. 
 One who, like Nature, knew no guile ; 
 
 With one whose eye of modest blue 
 Beamed ever with a radiance bright 
 That seemed to something inward due, 
 A fountain of celestial light ; 
 
 With one whose voice was sweeter far. 
 As I one eve enjoyed it there. 
 Than all the singing birds there are, 
 Or all the sounds that soothe the air ; 
 
 With one whose lips outblushed the rose. 
 And forth a fresher perfume breathed 
 Than e'er the rose at evening close 
 To dewy stars of night bequeathed ; 
 
 With one whose bosom was more pure 
 Than the pure stream that wandered by ; 
 In its own innocence secure. 
 And safe, were basest evil nigh. 
 
 When faintly beamed the setting sun 
 Along the paths of that fair isle. 
 Once I have strayed with such an one. 
 And heard her gayly talk the while. 
 
 And when I count the earthly hours 
 That I shall cherish most of all, 
 ' That walk in Anadostan's bowers 
 
 WiU be the first that I recall. 
 
LOST ! 189 
 
 The following stanzas I have selected from a longer 
 poem. Several of them put one strongly in mind of 
 Thomson, by the way a favorite author with Mr. 
 Paulding. Neither this nor the preceding poem, as I 
 believe,. has ever been in print before. 
 
 LOST! 
 
 Dnce on a time a traveller wound his way 
 Far in the West, that world of boundless plains, 
 And endless rivers that meandering stray 
 Through the wild warrior-Indian's lone domains. 
 Where Nature in despotic vigor reigns, 
 The freshness of her power undefiled 
 By mortal man in search of petty gains, 
 Unmarred by frippery Art, sublimely wild, 
 Unrivalled and supreme. Creation's giant child. 
 
 Tracking the prairie, he had left afar 
 Turbid Missouri's rash and headstrong tide, 
 That ever with its neighbor Earth at war 
 Resistless tears its way in foaming pride. 
 Rending her breast to atoms far and wide, 
 To scatter them at random to and fro. 
 Just as its rage, or accident, may guide ; 
 Capricious in its rude relentless flow, 
 Robbing a world above, to form a world below. 
 
 'Twas Autumn, and the dim and hazy air 
 
 Diffused a double softness o'er the scene. 
 
 That made the landscape more obscurely fair, 
 
 And waked seducing indolence I ween. 
 
 And caused him pause each lagging step between ; 
 
 Far as he gazed o'er all the boundless space 
 
 That mocked hjs vision though his eye was keen, 
 
 On every hand dame Nature showed a face ^ 
 
 Of most contented calm, and soft, bewitching, grace. 
 
190 LITBRAET LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Here drowsy-headed Silence held her breath, 
 And Echo lay entranced in heavy sleep ; 
 The quiet and solemnity of Death 
 Eternal watch and ward appeared to keep, 
 And palpably upon the air to creep ; 
 And naught rebelled against the strong duress ; 
 No insect shrill was heard, or murmur deep ; 
 In truth, it was a stillness to oppress — 
 Unbroken, dreary, sole, and utter, loneliness. 
 
 And not a trace of man here could he glean. 
 Though eagerly he cast his wearied eyes 
 O'er the mysterious paradise of green ; 
 But saw, instead, far off, weird phantoms rise, 
 Dancing against the mirror of the skies ; — 
 City, and tower, and frowning battlement ; 
 And lengthened lines of men in martial guise ; 
 And thousand unsubstantial figments, blent 
 In dizzy Fancy's wayward wild divertisement. 
 
 The skies their dark-blue banner broad unfurled, 
 Watched by the sleepless sentinels of night. 
 While all the upper and the lower world 
 Blended in one pale harmony of light, 
 Might fill the Soul with music, to that height 
 Which bards declare was reached in olden time 
 When all those heavenly orbs serenely bright 
 Joined in one solemn, soul-subduing chime. 
 Uplifting praise unto their Architect sublime. 
 
 But not for him was joy by night or day. 
 
 Though all the joys of sight and sound should meet ; 
 
 Cold in his heart a grim suspicion lay ; 
 
 "Tm on the trail — the trail!" — would he repeat. 
 
 And, for awhile, his growing fear would cheat, 
 
 And make himself a self-deceiving boast ; 
 
 But not for long endured the poor deceit ; 
 
 Upon a sea of doubt and terror tost, 
 
 That most tremendous horror came upon Mm — Lost ! 
 
XIII. 
 
 1826. [Mr. 48.] 
 
 TITE MERRY TALES OP THE THREE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM — INTRO- 
 DUCTORY DISSERTATION — THE FIRST PHILOSOPHER — THE SECOND 
 
 PHILOSOPHER THE THIRD PHILOSOPHER — PANEGYRIC ON THE 
 
 COMMON LAW — DEATH AND BURIAL OF DOCTOR GALLGOTHA — 
 CATASTROPHE OF THE BOWL. 
 
 In 1826 appeared THE MEERY TALES OF THE 
 THEEE WISE MEN OF GOTHAM, a volume published 
 by G. & C. Carvill, New York. 
 
 The title page bears a motto from Mother Goose's 
 Melodies : — 
 
 " Three wise men of Gotham 
 Went to sea in a bowl ; 
 If the bowl had been stronger, 
 My tales had been longer." 
 
 Mr. Harmony, Mr. Quominus, and Dr. Spurrem, tell 
 their stories, under the titles of — The Man Machine ; 
 or The Pupil of " Circumstances " ; The Perfection 
 of Reason; and, The Perfection of Science: which 
 are, respectively, satires on Mr. Owen's theories of 
 Human Perfectibility, the Common Law, and Phre- 
 nology. 
 
 The " Introductory Dissertation " is a good sam- 
 ple of our author's grave irony and humor. 
 
 INTEODUCTOET DISSEETATION. 
 
 Although most of the celebrated cities of antiquity 
 have been described with such accuracy, and their 
 
 [191] 
 
192 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 situations pointed out with so much precision, that 
 there is little difficulty in at least making a tolerable 
 guess at their remains; yet are there two most 
 remarkable exceptions. To this day no one has 
 succeeded in establishing beyond question where 
 Babylon once stood, and stiU less have the most inde- 
 fatigable inquiries even led to a reasonable conjecture 
 as to the site of the little less renowned city of 
 Gotham. No circumstance can furnish a higher 
 proof of the superiority of the works of the head over 
 those of the hands, than that the fame of these two 
 great cities should have been preserved in books long 
 after every other certain vestige of their existence had 
 perished from the face of the earth. 
 
 History, sacred and profane, alone preserves the 
 remembrance of Babylon ; and of Gotham we pos- 
 sess scarcely any other memorial than the immortal 
 lines to be found in the titlepage of this work. And 
 this example furnishes a striking proof of the impor- 
 tance of heroes, poets, and philosophers, in cities and 
 states. How many of these have been utterly for- 
 gotten in the lapse of time, merely for want of some 
 great man to rescue them from oblivion ! How many 
 of the most insignificant have, on the contrary, be- 
 come renowned solely in consequence of having been 
 the birthplace or residence of some illustrious citizen ! 
 Who would ever have heard of Stagira but for the 
 nativity of Aristotle? Who would have remem- 
 bered half the cities that contended for the honour of 
 being the birthplace of Homer, had it not been for 
 that illustrious rivalry ? Who would not go ten miles 
 out of the way to avoid Arpinum, but for the glory 
 of Cicero? And who, finally, would ever have 
 
WISE MEN OP GOTHAM. 193 
 
 dreamed of the existence of such a city as Gotham, 
 had it not been for the unparalleled distinction of 
 having possessed three sages at one and the same 
 time ? — a circumstance which places her far above all 
 the cities of ancient Greece. They had their single 
 wise men; and all that the force of ancient genius 
 seems to have been capable of was to produce one 
 of these at a time. In short, a thousand proofs are 
 extant to show that the memory of illustrious men is 
 among the strongest of those everlasting links which 
 bind together the different ages and nations of the 
 earth; and that were it not for these indestructible 
 landmarks of time, we should scarcely have any thing 
 to remind us that we have been preceded by hundreds 
 of generations. 
 
 These reflections may serve to place in a more 
 striking point of view the ingratitude of mankind, in 
 so often neglecting or persecuting those profound 
 sages and philosophers, who not only confer upon 
 them while living the most substantial benefits, but 
 carry the renown of their birthplace to the latest pos- 
 terity. The virtues, talents, and glorious services of 
 illustrious men of every nation constitute their best 
 inheritance, their most rational source of pride and 
 exultation, and it has often happened that the renown 
 of a people, like that of the Thebans, began and 
 ended with a single man. Yet how often we find 
 nations either entirely indifferent to their best bene- 
 factors, or persecuting them with all the barbarous 
 rigours of religious, political, or philosophical intoler- 
 ance! Not to mention the numerous instances re- 
 corded of ancient times, we shall find, even in the 
 most enlightened ages, humanized by the mild and 
 
 13 
 
194 LITEBARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 forgiving precepts of Christianity, these examples, if 
 possible still more numerous and flagrant. Galileo is 
 a hackneyed instance ; but it is not so generally known 
 that Newton was charged by bigotry and ignorance 
 with holding opinions at war with orthodoxy, and 
 Locke expelled from that reverend bedlam Oxford by 
 political intolerance. Among the most illustrious re- 
 formers, as well as the most enlightened of reasoners, 
 Melancthon, Erasmus, and even Theodore Beza, were 
 suspected and denounced, because they did not keep 
 pace with the rampant zealots of the times, who 
 would willingly have warmed them at the stake. In 
 short, it would seem to be among the inflexible dis- 
 pensations of Providence, that no selfish motive 
 should ever operate upon the great benefactors of 
 mankind, in their glorious endeavours, since all they 
 can rationally anticipate as their reward in this world 
 is to pass their lives amid persecutions and slanders, 
 among a race of ungrateful beings, who never become 
 sensible of their ingratitude or their obligations till it 
 is too late to make reparation. 
 
 Owing to this waywardness of mankind it has 
 happened, that now, when a disposition prevails to do 
 justice to the illustrious dead, for want of a sufficient 
 number of distinguished persons to employ the pens 
 of the innumerable biographers that stand ready, pen 
 in hand, to strip the unfortunates before they are cold, 
 and lay their foibles open to the world, they are fain 
 to bestow their labours on persons whose greatest 
 merit is their insignificance. Owing to this, I say, it 
 has happened that not only the precise place occupied 
 by the famous city of Gotham, but likewise the era 
 in which her three sages flourished, cannot now be 
 
WISE MEN OP GOTHAM. 195 
 
 ascertained. All that can be done is to grope in 
 the obscurity of vague conjecture, and then leave the 
 matter more obscure than before. It may be, how- 
 ever, worth whUe to pass in review the different opin- 
 ions heretofore advanced upon this important point. 
 
 Some will have it that Gotham was the ancient 
 capital of the Goths, of whom, we thank our stars, 
 King Roderick was the last, according to Mr. Southey. 
 Others, on the contrary, have maintained with great 
 zeal that Gotham is a corruption of Gotha, the seat 
 of a northern university, where they philosophize 
 pretty deeply, and study metaphysics. A third class 
 of inquirers affirm that such a city never existed, 
 because they have not been able to find any traces of 
 its existence, which in our opinion is the poorest rea- 
 son in the world. The four lines of our titlepage fur- 
 nish better proof of its existence than all the fragments 
 of Carthage, or stately ruins of Thebes and Palmyra. 
 Antiquaries ought to blush for such frivolous doubts ! 
 They are utterly unworthy of the strong faith which 
 should ever animate this class of explorers. 
 
 Among the vast variety of opinions upon this point, 
 that which identifies Gotham with the famous city of 
 Gottingen, which is the seat of a university founded 
 by the renowned Baron Munchausen, is not the least 
 plausible at first sight. There are numerous exam- 
 ples, not only of cities but of empires, whose names, 
 being ill adapted to poetry, have been changed into 
 others more musical and harmonious. In short, al- 
 most all countries have a prosaic and a poetical name 
 — Gallia, Iberia, Ausonia, Hesperia, Albion, Hiber- 
 nia, Columbia, and a hundred others, will at once 
 occur to the general reader. It \idll readily be con- 
 
196 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 ceded by all unprejudiced persons that Gottingen is 
 neither sonorous, musical, nor poetical ; and therefore, 
 without any great violation of probability, we may 
 suppose a poet of a delicate ear would soften it down 
 to Gotham, a name wonderfully adapted to poetry. 
 But there is a still stronger presumption in favour of this 
 opinion. At Gottingen, as we are credibly informed, 
 the professors actually adventure upon animal mag- 
 netism, phrenology, and such dangerous sciences, 
 which would seem to justify a shrewd suspicion that 
 they would not be a whit too good to venture out to 
 sea in a large bowl, well ballasted with punch, such 
 as whilom used to be placed upon the smoking board 
 of a jolly New-Netherlander, by four stout menials on 
 New-year's Eve, ere the dire irruption of liqueurs, and 
 other outlandish poisons. Nor would this' adventure 
 have appeared so rash as might seem at first sight, 
 since we have been assured by a person of great ex- 
 perience in nautical affairs and punch-drinking, that 
 there is a natural antipathy between salt-water and 
 punch, insomuch that being once half-seas over, he fell 
 into the ocean with a bowl of punch in his hands, and 
 floated several hours, quietly sipping, until he was 
 taken up again. Not a single drop of sea-water had 
 polluted his beverage all this whUe. He declares a 
 punch-bowl is far preferable to a life-boat, and a skin 
 well lined with toddy a thousand times superior to a 
 cork jacket. These facts are sufficient to put to the 
 blush all those who conceive it any imputation upon 
 our Three Wise Men, that they should venture to sea 
 in a bowl. 
 
 But there is one opinion put forth by certain Eng- 
 lish -writers, who, if they could bring it about, would 
 
WISE MEN OP GOTHAM. 197 
 
 not leave the rest of the world a single philosopher, 
 which we are inclined to treat with infinite contempt. 
 We mean the absurd notion, that Gotham is actually 
 a town in Northamptonshire, or rather a rotten 
 borough, which, although destitute of inhabitants, 
 returns three members, who are generally called the 
 Wise Men of Gotham, because they instinctively vote 
 with the ministry, agreeably to the instructions of 
 their constituents. It is said that this place was re- 
 markable for goats in the time of William the Con- 
 queror, and that the people used to ride them instead 
 of horses, which, in the opinion of some, gave rise to 
 their being called the Wise Men, or, according to the 
 opinion of others, the Mad Men of Gotham. A great 
 Oxford antiquary, of whom it has been said that he 
 remembered whatever others forgot, and forgot what- 
 ever other people remembered, speaks of the " Merry 
 Tales of the Mad Men of Gotham," a work in great 
 repute in his time, when the kindest name given to a 
 philosopher was that of a madman, a phrase which 
 often saved him from the stake or the block. This 
 work was long supposed to be extinct, but at length 
 came to light not long since, at Mr. Bindley's sale, and 
 was bought by a young American traveller for a trifle, 
 owing to the deplorable ignorance of two munificent 
 noblemen, who little suspected that it was the only 
 copy in the known world. 
 
 It is this work which is now presented to the reader, 
 divested of its antique garb, that it may be more 
 extensively circulated and understood, and restored to 
 its genuine title of the " Merry Tales of the Three 
 Wise Men of Gotham." It was thought inhuman to 
 hoard up the treasure, and keep all this huge bundle 
 
198 LITEEAEY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 of knowledge to ourselves, after the manner of certain 
 great lovers of literature, who think a book is like a 
 mistress, of no value if her beauties are enjoyed by 
 another. But to return to our subject. 
 
 Though we have adopted the work as genuine, we 
 are by no means inclined to humour the English 
 writers in their claim to this illustrious city. They 
 are welcome to London and Liverpool, and even to 
 Oxford and Cambridge, with aU our heart. But as to 
 the renowned city of Gotham, we will not yield a 
 single hair of its head to England or any other coun- 
 try. We are willing to let the matter rest as it is, so 
 that every nation may have an equal claim, but our 
 disinterestedness will go no further. All we will con- 
 cede is, that Gotham, like some glorious philosophers 
 and benefactors of the human race, is a city belonging 
 to the whole civilized world, the emporium of arts, the 
 head-quarters of philosophy, and the illustrious seat 
 of the perfection of reason. Whether in the New or 
 the .Old World is of little consequence, since such is 
 its glory and renown that there is quite enough of it 
 to satisfy half a dozen worlds. Leaving this part of 
 our inquiry to take care of itself, we wiU proceed to 
 discuss other equally important matters. 
 
 It cannot be sufficiently lamented by those who 
 rightly consider the forgetting of any thing a great 
 misfortune, whether it was worth remembering or 
 not, that such a culpable carelessness and indifference 
 prevailed in early times in respect to the little pecu- 
 liarities and private particulars which no doubt distin- 
 guished the great men of those days. It is melancholy 
 to think how much we read, and how little we know, 
 of the great writers of antiquity. The race of " d d 
 
WISE MEN OP GOTHAM. 199 
 
 good-natured " biographers, who in the present age so 
 amply furnish all these interesting minutise, was un- 
 known at that time, at least none of their works have 
 come down to us. It is owing in a great measure to 
 this circumstance, that the great men of antiquity pre- 
 serve a sort of prescriptive superiority over the mod- 
 erns ; not that they were really wiser, or more virtuous 
 or brave, but because there were no prying, curious, 
 industrious, pains-taking persons, who noted their 
 foibles, set down their folly for wisdom, and made 
 use of the intimacy they had obtained by cringing 
 sycophancy to furnish themselves with materials to 
 shame them with posterity. 
 
 Thus it is that the ancients tower above the mod- 
 erns, because of the former we scarcely know any 
 thing but what is great, and the greatness of the 
 latter is overshadowed by littlenesses. Their virtues 
 and vices, their wisdom and folly, their magnanimity 
 and meanness, their strength and their weakness, are 
 so mixed up, and withal so impartially dwelt upon 
 by the faithful biographer, that we approach the most 
 illustrious sage with the familiarity of a pert valet, by 
 long service become acquainted with all the foibles 
 and secrets of his master. We become, as it were, 
 quite relieved from that sense of degrading inferiority 
 inspired by the naked simplicity of ancient virtue, as 
 handed down to us by writers so neglectful of their 
 duty as one-half the time to forget whether their 
 heroes had in reality any vices to bring them down 
 to the level of humanity. 
 
 Still more is it to be regretted that the noble ambi- 
 tion of collecting those works which derive their pecu- 
 liar value from having been long since forgotten, did 
 
200 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 not originate somewhat earlier, and before so many 
 valuable relics, so much invaluable information, had 
 been irretrievably lost. Follies and weaknesses that 
 might have been dignified by the examples of illustri- 
 ous men are become degraded by being supposed to 
 appertain exclusively to the vulgar ; and the mousing 
 gossips of literature cheated of all chance of pulling 
 to pieces the character of an ancient worthy. 
 
 This blamable neglect in recording the littlenesses, 
 and preserving memorials of the vices, of great per- 
 sons, can perhaps best be accounted for and excused 
 on the supposition that a great portion of the now 
 illustrious sages of antiquity had not their merits 
 brought to light until long after they were dead, when 
 the only memorials of their having once existed were 
 their immortal works. Conquerors, heroes, and fash- 
 ionable bards, receive the admiration of their cotem- 
 poraries, and reap their harvest while living; but 
 sages and virtuous men must, for the most part, 
 content themselves with being venerated in their 
 ashes, and rewarded in a future world. The differ- 
 ence between the mere vulgar idol of a fashionable 
 mob and the retired votary of wisdom, genius, and 
 virtue is, that the one is remembered while living and 
 forgot when dead, while the other emerges to light 
 and immortality at the moment he ceases to live. It 
 is then that the literary "resurrection-men" for the 
 first time discover that he is worth disinterring, and 
 that they set about disturbing his ashes, and raking 
 up, with pious industry, the memory of all those little, 
 frivolous, and impertinent particulars, the knowledge of 
 which answers little purpose but that of adding to our 
 contempt for poor human nature. Thus it is that the 
 
WISE MEN OP GOTHAM. 201 
 
 longer the time which elapses after the death of great 
 men before mankind discover they were really great, 
 the more fortunate for their lasting reputation. They 
 revive with greater lustre, when all the Httle clouds 
 and shadows which dimmed their glories are passed 
 away, and appear in the imperishable brightness of 
 their own immortal productions. Of Homer, Shak- 
 speare, and the few names that occupy the summit of 
 the temple of Fame, how little do we know ; while 
 everybody knows aU about the lesser lights, that will 
 twinkle for a Uttle while in the darkness which sur- 
 rounds them, and then go out for ever. The '' Great 
 Unknown" has, we are credibly informed, not less 
 than six industrious " resurrection-men," watching day 
 and night only for the breath to be fairly out of his 
 body, to make an example of him. Nay, so impatient 
 are they for his decease, that it is currently rumoured 
 on this side the water, they have it in serious contem- 
 plation to make away with him the first convenient 
 opportunity, in their apprehension that he will cheat 
 them of his biography by unluckily outliving them 
 aU. We earnestly advise him not to go out at night, 
 nor wander in solitary places ; or at least, if he wUl, 
 to wear a coat-of-mail, and take every reasonable pre- 
 caution. It would be twice unfortunate, to be first 
 made away with in cold blood, and afterward mur- 
 dered in a biography. The best way, we think, and 
 we advise him to it forthwith, wUl be to write his own 
 life, after the manner of certain persecuted worthies, 
 who, in order to disappoint the mob of a public spec- 
 tacle, fairly hang themselves up the night before exe- 
 cution. Be this as it may, it is without doubt owing 
 in a great measure to the fact that our Three Wise 
 
202 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Men were of the class of the immortals who live only 
 in after-ages, that their fame has lain thus long, as it 
 were, in abeyance, while so many insignificant per- 
 sons have been handed down with honour, not indeed 
 from generation to generation, but from the reviewer 
 to the magazines, and from the magazines to the 
 newspapers. 
 
 A still greater uncertainty obtains in respect to the 
 precise era in which our sages flourished than exists 
 in relation to the place of their nativity. In the origi- 
 nal black-letter copy, neither the date of the publica- 
 tion nor the name of the printer is preserved, so that 
 we are left entirely in the dark as to these interesting 
 particulars. Neither can any thing decisive be in- 
 ferred from the nature of the topics discussed, or the 
 events alluded to, in the course of the work, since 
 nothing is more certain than that the opinions as well 
 as the events of the world, like the world itself, are 
 perpetually moving in a circle. Revolving years, as 
 they bring about a return of the same seasons, and 
 the same fashions in dress, reproduce at the same 
 time similar errors of the vulgar and absurdities of 
 the wise. Old errors are pretty sure to return, after 
 having been absent long enough to be forgotten, 
 under a new name, and with a new face. They are 
 like spaniels; we cannot beat them from us. Thus 
 it is, in like manner, with the theories and inventions 
 which are daily passed upon us for original, but 
 which, for the most part, will be found to be nothing 
 more than the revivals of old and exploded fashions, 
 which the world had worn till it was tired, and then 
 thrown by among the lumber of antiquity, for some 
 new rattle, that had its day, and then followed its 
 
WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 203 
 
 predecessor, quietly into a temporary oblivion. To 
 argue then that the following work is modern, because 
 it treats of topics fashionable at the present day, is in 
 effect to deny, what is certainly true, that one age is 
 a mere edition of another, with some alterations, but 
 the contents substantially the same. It tickles human 
 vanity to tell us that we are wiser than our fathers ; and 
 it is one of those propositions which is likely to pass 
 without contradiction, from the circumstance that all 
 those most interested in denying it are dead and gone. 
 But if the grave could speak, and the churchyards vote 
 upon the question, we living boasters would be in a 
 most pitiful minority. That the knowledge of man- 
 kind is not always progressive, and one age inevitably 
 wiser than another, is exemplified most miserably in 
 the history of the world. It is only to cast our eyes 
 toward the country of Homer, of Aristotle, and of 
 Socrates, to behold millions of living testimonies to 
 prove that the mind of man, like the crab, moves 
 backward and forward with equal facility, and that 
 ages of knowledge seem naturally succeeded by ages 
 of ignorance. Man cannot do or know every thing 
 at once ; and it is not altogether improbable, that in 
 proportion as a succeeding age adds to the knowledge 
 of a preceding one, it makes way for its acquisitions 
 by displacing something equally important. Men 
 may forget as well as learn; and, without doubt, 
 many, very many, wise and virtuous habits and prac- 
 tices have been from time to time elbowed out of tjie 
 world, to make room for outlandish and pestilent nov- 
 elties. He, therefore, who should take upon him to 
 pronounce this work a production of the present age, 
 merely on the authority of the topics it discusses, 
 
204 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 would very probably decide that the elderly gentlemen 
 about town are all young, because some of them dress 
 like dandies, dance cotillons, and aspire to the pos- 
 session of youthful belles. 
 
 Some may suppose that the names of the Three 
 Wise Men might possibly lead to detection. But we 
 feel bound in candour to confess that these are of our 
 own invention. Such is the innate modesty of true 
 wisdom, that not one of this illustrious trio ever took 
 occasion to disclose his name to any living person, so 
 far as we have been able to discover. Certain it is, 
 that if they did, the author or compiler, whose name 
 is equally unknown, has either wilfully or ignorantly 
 omitted it through the whole course of the work, leav- 
 ing blanks, which we thought proper to fill up to the 
 best of our judgment, as the frequent omissions had 
 an unpleasant effect on the eye of the reader. 
 
 The circumstance of their going to sea in a bowl 
 we are rather inclined to consider as allegorical; or 
 perhaps it may be a poetic license. At all events, 
 whether it be so or not, it indicates in the most strik- 
 ing manner the opinion entertained by the poet of 
 their daring intrepidity, in thus venturing out upon 
 the most unstable of all elements in so frail a bark. 
 It shows a contempt of danger, when encountered in 
 search of knowledge, far above that of Belzoni, Park, 
 Hornemann, or any martyr to Egyptian mummies, 
 incognita African rivers, or north-west passages. A 
 lave of knowledge so elevated above all fear of con- 
 sequences, places them on a level with that distin- 
 guished phrenologist of Edinburgh, who is reported 
 to have knocked out his own brains, for the purpose 
 of demonstrating the truth of his favourite science. 
 
WISE MEN OP GOTHAM. 205 
 
 Having now, as we presume to flatter ourselves, 
 sufficiently established to the satisfaction of the reader 
 the three points we set out to prove, to wit, that 
 neither the birthplace, the era, nor the names, of the 
 Three Wise Men of Gotham can now ever be known, 
 we shall put an end to our inquiry. 
 
 It may be proper to add that there is neither intro- 
 duction nor preface to the originals of these tales ; no 
 explanation of the particular circumstances which 
 brought our Three Wise Men together; nor of the 
 occasion which prompted them to relate their stories 
 to each other. We may reasonably, however, sup- 
 pose that it was done to while away the tedium of a 
 long voyage; and that upon some placid summer 
 morning, while the wave was calm, the sky serene, 
 the sea-birds skimming over-head, and the dolphin^ 
 playing beside them, the Man Machine, being politely 
 requested by his companions, began, as wiU be seen 
 in the following pages. 
 
 New-Amsterdam^ February^ 1826. 
 
 The story of the first philosopher begins : — 
 " I was born, began the first Wise Man of Gotham, 
 in a country that I consider unworthy of my nativity, 
 * and for that reason I shall do all in my power to 
 deprive it of the honour, by not mentioning its name. 
 I am, moreover, descended from a family, which must 
 necessarily be of great antiquity, since, like all old 
 things, it has long since fallen into decay. My father 
 had little or no money, but was blessed with the poor 
 man's wealth, a fruitful wife and great store of child- 
 ren. Of these I am the eldest; but at the period I 
 shall commence my story, we were all too young to 
 
206 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 take care of ourselves, until the fortunate discovery- 
 was made by some great philanthropist, that little 
 children, of six or seven years old, could labour a 
 dozen or fourteen hours a day, without stinting their 
 minds, ruining their health, or destroying their morals. 
 This improvement in the great science of productive 
 LABOUR, delighted my father — it was shifting the onus, 
 as the lawyers say, from his own shoulders to that of 
 his children. He forthwith bound us aU over to a 
 cotton manufactory, where we stood upon our legs 
 three times as long as a member of Congress, that is 
 to say, fourteen hours a day, and, among eight of us, 
 managed to earn a guinea a week. The old gentle- 
 man, for gentleman he became from the moment 
 he discovered his little flock could maintain him — 
 thought he had opened a mine. He left off" working, 
 and took to drinking and studying the mysteries of 
 political economy and productive labour. He soon 
 became an adept in this glorious science, and at 
 length arrived at the happy conclusion, that the whole 
 moral, physical, political, and religious organization 
 of society resolved itself into making the most of 
 human labour; just as we use that of our horses, 
 oxen, asses, and other beasts of burthen." 
 
 The story of the second philosopher begins : — 
 " My brother Harmony (said Mr. Quominus, the 
 second Wise Man of Gotham), has fallen a sacrifice 
 to the perfectibility of man ; I, on the contrary, am a 
 martyr to the Perfection of Reason. I was born in a 
 country where they have sufficient wisdom to make 
 their own laws, but not quite enough, as it would 
 seem, to understand them afterward. In order to 
 remedy this inconvenience they resorted to a method 
 
WISE MEN OP GOTHAM. 207 
 
 equally singular and original. They enlisted the wise 
 men of other nations in their behalf; and justly con- 
 sidering that it was quite a sufficient effort of human 
 wisdom for one country to make its own laws, they 
 determined to resort to another for their interpreta- 
 tion. Accordingly, they made a vast number of laws, 
 believing they could not have too much of a good 
 thing, and then sent beyond sea to get them ex- 
 plained. In a couple of hundred years, these explana- 
 tions, being all carefully recorded in books, amounted 
 to upward of three thousand volumes of goodly size, 
 each containing upon an average, one hundred con- 
 tradictory interpretations of different wise men. Such 
 a mass of wisdom, and such a variety of opinions, 
 supported by such unanswerable arguments, never got 
 together under the same roof in this world. Some 
 very aged persons, who had lived long enough to get 
 about half through this invaluable collection, discov- 
 ered that it was like the sermon that suited any text, 
 and the text that suited any sermon — for every man 
 could find in it a decision, or at least an opinion, to 
 suit his purpose. A system so supported on all sides 
 by aU sorts of opinions, certainly merited the honour 
 of being called a science ; and such a science as cer- 
 tainly deserved a respectable name. It was accord- 
 ingly aptly denominated the perfection op reason, 
 because it furnished every man, whatever his opinions 
 might be, with reasons in support of them. 
 
 " In addition to this great requisite of every perfect 
 system, namely, that it should suit everybody — 
 this accumulation of contradictory opinions, it was 
 affirmed, possessed another irresistible claim to the 
 dignified appellation it had obtained. It cannot be 
 
208 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 denied, said the admirers of this science, that although 
 the laws are expressly devised to settle such disputes, 
 or conflicting claims, as might otherwise occasion a 
 resort to force, still it is never the intention of a wise 
 legislator, that people should actually appeal to them 
 for this purpose. They are merely to be held up in 
 terrorem, or rather like buoys, to float on the sur- 
 face of society, for the purpose of warning mankind 
 of the shoals and quicksands below. In this point of 
 view, then, it is apparent, that the more intricate and 
 inconsistent the laws, and the more various and con- 
 tradictory their interpretations, the greater delay and 
 expense there will be found in settling appeals to 
 them, and consequently the number of law-suits wiU 
 be greatly diminished. Thus, when the laws become 
 perfectly unintelligible they are absolutely perfect, for 
 then nobody in their senses will go to law, and the 
 science will do its duty after the manner of a scare- 
 crow, which frightens the birds from the corn, merely 
 by flourishing its rattle. Thus you see, that no other 
 name than that of the perfection of reason could 
 possibly have suited this excellent science. 
 
 ' " In addition to the singular happiness of being born 
 in a country governed according to the perfection of 
 reason, I was brought up under an uncle, (my father 
 dying when I was quite a child), who adored the law, 
 and might be said never to have had any other mis- 
 tress. He was a bachelor, of competent estate, but 
 rather indifferent education — he was better fed than 
 taught; and when I say he could read, and write, and 
 cipher a little, I go as far as strict biographical vera- 
 city wUl warrant. He was without a profession, rich, 
 and unmarried. Such a man has but one chance for 
 
WISE JIBN OP GOTHAM. 209 
 
 happiness in this world — he. must get unto himself a 
 hobby, and ride away as if the sheriff were at his 
 heels. To trace a man's hobby to its first cause is 
 like searching for the source of the Niger. Yet I 
 think I can account for that of my uncle. He had 
 gained possession of a large part of his property by a 
 law-siiit, and ever after considered law to be the per- 
 fection of reason, while the honest gentleman who 
 lost the estate held it in utter abhorrence. The suit 
 lasted nineteen years, at the expiration of which there 
 was found a great flaw in the defendant's title. He 
 had no more money, and no man ever successfully 
 appealed to the perfection of reason with an empty 
 pocket. 
 
 " From this time it was my uncle's great delight to 
 attend the courts, where, as he used to affirm with 
 surprising satisfaction, they sometimes nearly argued 
 his head off his shoulders, and so confounded his 
 notions of the distinctions between right and wrong, 
 that he could hardly teU the difference untU he went 
 home and looked over the ten commandments." 
 
 The story of the third philosopher begins : — 
 
 " My brother Harmony, (began the third "Wise Man 
 of Gotham), has, it seems, been shipwrecked in pur- 
 suit of the Perfectibihty of Man; and my brother 
 Quominus has fallen a victim to the Perfection of 
 Eeason, or the Wisdom of Ages, I can hardly tell 
 which — I, on the contrary, am the martyr of 
 Science. 
 
 I was born and educated in the most scientific, 
 literary, and philosophical city of the world — for the 
 women were aU blues and the men metaphysicians. 
 In truth, I may say, with perfect veracity, there were 
 
 14 
 
210 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 SO many people running .after science, that there were 
 not sciences enough for them to run after. The 
 business was overdone; the game was exhausted, 
 as in countries too thickly settled and too much cul- 
 tivated; and nothing was left for them but the in- 
 vention of new sciences, to give them employment. 
 Besides, such had been the unwearied industry, the 
 deep sagacity with which they had pursued the old 
 sciences, that they had driven them from their most 
 secret recesses ; detected all their arcana ; exposed their 
 occult mysteries; and, in fact, pulled them by the 
 ears, as it were, out of every hole and corner where 
 they had intrenched themselves for ages. Strangers, 
 who were allured to the city by the fame of its learn- 
 ing, observed with astonishment, that the women 
 could call every thing by its scientific name, and that 
 even the poor children talked nearly as wisely as the 
 very best of them. Learning, science, and philosophy 
 were becoming vulgar, insomuch that several people 
 of the highest rank and fashion began to study igno- 
 rance, and actually sent their children to school to 
 unlearn every thing. It was high time, therefore, for 
 the lovers of science to begin to look about them; 
 for the writers and lecturers upon the old gray-beard 
 mathematics, philosophy, astronomy, and the like, 
 instead of an audience of pretty fashionables with 
 nodding plumes, were content to confine their instruc- 
 tions to classes of rusty students, who actually came 
 for no other purpose than to learn. The fashionable 
 young ladies began to yawn at conversaziones, where 
 they met 'to relax themselves with political economy 
 and metaphysics; and a universal alarm prevailed, 
 when a great heiress, who was considered the bul- 
 
WISE MEN OF GOTHAM. 211 
 
 wark of the blues, backslided, and married a regular 
 dandy with a thin waist and no learning. 
 
 " It was high time to get up something new for these 
 people, and as the natives of our isle are more apt to 
 improve upon the inventions of others than to invent 
 themselves, I was selected by a coterie of philoso- 
 phers, and sent out into the world to discover a new 
 plaything for these grown-up children of knowledge. 
 I travelled, and travelled, and travelled, as the story- 
 books say, over divers countries that have neither 
 latitude nor longitude; I visited all the colleges, 
 scientific institutions, and bedlams; sought out the 
 most learned and adventurous philosophers of Chris- 
 tendom : consulted the pundits of India, the chingfoos 
 of China, the dervises of Turkey, and the jugglers of 
 the Flathead Indians of the Missouri. In short, I 
 ransacked the uttermost ends of the earth, and was 
 returning disconsolate, through Germany, to my native 
 city, with a firm conviction that there was nothing 
 new under the sun, when an unexpected adventure 
 befell me on the eve of a long day's journey." 
 
 Incidentally, we have, in " The Perfection of Rea 
 son", this opening of a judge's charge, being his 
 panegyric on the Common Law: — 
 
 " Gentlemen of the Jury : I cannot sufficiently con- 
 gratulate both myself and you, that we are here 
 deliberating and deciding under the purest and most 
 perfect system of laws with which any people were 
 ever blessed ; a system combining the wisdom of our 
 ancestors with that of our own — a system happily 
 characterized by the sages of the law, as the result of 
 the experience of ages, and the perfection of reason. 
 I speak, gentlemen, of the common law — which is, I 
 
212 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 will venture to say — I can hardly say what it is — 
 sometimes it is one thing, sometimes another — some- 
 times it is founded upon a rule, and sometimes upon 
 exceptions to a rule — sometimes it is defined, and 
 sometimes it is not defined — sometimes it is the 
 product of ages of darkness, illustrated and explained 
 by the wisdom of ages of light — and sometimes it is 
 the offspring of ages of light, mellowed down, as 
 it were, into an agreeable twilight, by the obscurities 
 of ages of darkness. It is, in fact, gentlemen, a chaos 
 of wisdom and experience, out of which issues beauty 
 and order, as did the fair creations of this harmonious 
 universe. Even its inconsistencies and diversities 
 may be justly said to contribute to its unequalled per- 
 fection. As in a concert, the different instruments 
 as played by different persons, and the different voices 
 attuned to different pitches, men, women, and chil- 
 dren, counter, tenor, treble, and bass, aU conduce to 
 the nicest and most accurate harmony; so do the 
 dissenting opinions of various judges and jurists ad- 
 minister to the harmony, beauty, and perfection of 
 the common law. 
 
 " Another excellence peculiar to the common law is 
 its capacity of adapting itself to times, changes, and 
 circumstances, without any other violence than an 
 occasional departure from common sense — a species 
 of instinct which the law holds in little respect. 
 Hence we find it in one age one thing, in another 
 age another thing ; in the mouth of one judge it 
 speaks one opinion, in that of another judge another 
 opinion, according to the variations produced by time, 
 the difference of climate, the wind, the fashion, and 
 other modifying circumstances. Hence too — and 
 
WISE MEN OP GOTHAM. 213 
 
 this is another peculiar excellence of the law — let 
 a man's case be apparently ever so bad, it is ten to 
 one but he can find, somewhere or another, a decision 
 of some court or judge that makes in his favour. 
 This is what is meant by the law looking with equal 
 eyes on all persons, and presuming every man to be 
 innocent till he is found guilty. The common law 
 has, in fact, all the qualities of the famous pair of 
 enchanted seven-league boots, which, it is recorded, 
 fitted everybody, great and small, from little Hop-o'- 
 my-thumb to the great giant Blunderbore." 
 
 In " The Perfection of Science " occurs the follow- 
 ing account of the death and burial of Doctor Gall- 
 go th a. 
 
 " While we were debating whither to frame our 
 course, and just as I had almost brought the doctor 
 to consent to accompanying me to the city of my 
 nativity, the good old man fell sick, or rather the 
 fabric of nature sunk under him, and the lamp which 
 had illuminated it began to twinkle so faintly in its 
 socket that it was plain the oil was quite spent. 
 
 " He took to his bed, from whence he never rose 
 again. I was going to send for a physician. ' No,' 
 said he, with a languid smile, ' I will die a Christian, 
 but not a martyr. It is cruel to torture age with 
 unavailing remedies. Besides, I have not money to 
 pay a doctor, and it would mortify my pride to be 
 kiUed for nothing.' 
 
 " I have a satisfaction, even at this distance of time, 
 in the recollection that I attended him faithfully to 
 the last, supplied his wants and administered to his 
 infirmities, as if he had been my father. About four 
 o'clock one morning, a little before the dawning of the 
 
214 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 day, and just at the period of time when nature seems 
 to be in her last and profoundest repose, preparatory 
 to waking — the doctor, after lying perfectly still for 
 upward of an hour, suddenly raised himself on his 
 elbow — and with an eye clear and bright surveyed 
 the room all around with a slow and measured turn 
 of the head. For a moment his eye rested upon me 
 — but he did not speak. He then sunk easily upon 
 his piUow — I put my face close to his — he breathed 
 into it once — and there was a long pause. He is 
 gone, said I — no, he breathed again, and there was 
 another still longer pause. It is aU over now, said I ; 
 but he respired yet once again — and that was the 
 last — I waited, but he breathed no more. 
 
 " They would not let me bury him in a churchyard, 
 because, as the confessor maintained, he was no 
 Christian, and therefore was not entitled to Christian 
 charity and forgiveness after he was dead. But I 
 buried the old philosopher where the grass grew as 
 green, the flowers bloomed as gay, and the birds 
 warbled as sweetly, as if the spot had been blessed 
 by the confessor himself." 
 
 The volume closes with a dispute in the bowl, 
 which leads to personal violence, and a catastrophe. 
 
 " I have seen people keep their temper when the 
 argument was against them, but I never knew even 
 a philosopher that could stand two to one against 
 him in a laugh. Dr. Spurrem lifted up a stout ivory- 
 headed cane with intent, as I believe, to let it fall on 
 the cerebral development of the Pupil of Circum- 
 stances ; but that expert Spinning Jenny warded off 
 the blow with his cocked hat, which was unfortu- 
 nately knocked overboard, and the cane lighted di- 
 
WISE MEN OP GOTHAM. 215 
 
 rectly on the combative organ of the Perfection of 
 Reason. Each of the Wise Men now started up for 
 the purpose of defending his person, or his theory; 
 and in the confusion the jolly Bowl, being left without 
 a cockswain, imperceptibly drifted into the eddying 
 circles of a great whirlpool — beyond doubt the Mael- 
 strom of Norway. Here, after whirling round and 
 round for some time, it unluckily struck against the 
 head of the Man Machine, who was dodging to avoid 
 a second application of the ivory-headed cane. The 
 concussion of these two hard bodies proved fatal to 
 the bowl, which parted exactly in two pieces, just as 
 it floated to the centre of the vortex, in which the 
 whole party was suddenly engulfed. The last ves- 
 tige of them seen was the tip of the ivory-headed cane, 
 which the doctor seemed stiU flourishing in vindication 
 of the infallible science. 
 
 " What became of these renowned philosophers is 
 not precisely known. The most probable, and at the 
 same time, the most consoling opinion is, that this tre- 
 mendous vortex was one of the great avenues to the 
 newly discovered Concentric Spheres ; and that, con- 
 sequently, there is a possibility at least that our illus- 
 trious trio may have found in some other world what 
 they vainly sought in this." 
 
XIV. 
 
 1828-1832. [Mi. 50-54.] 
 
 THE NEW MIBSOR FOR TRAVELI/EES — THE OLD UAK'S CAROUSAL — 
 TALES OP THE GOOD WOMAN — CHRONICLES OV THE CITY OF 
 GOTHAM — THE LION OP THE WEST — LETTER FROM DAVID CROCK- 
 ETT — LETTER TO IRVING- — THE DUTCHMAN'S FIRESIDE — WESTWARD 
 Ho! 
 
 THE NEW MIRROR TOR TRAVELLERS; AND GXnDE 
 TO THE SPRINGS, " By an Amateur ", was published 
 in one volume in 1828, by G. & C. Camll, New York. 
 It is a quiz of the fashions and manners of that day, 
 and will be included in the republication about to be 
 made. 
 
 To somewhere about this period, as I suppose, we 
 may refer the following lines, which are to be found 
 in " The Poets and Poetry of America " published in 
 1842 under the editorship of Rufus W. Griswold. 
 They are noticeable, not only for their vigor, but as 
 being almost the sole example of morbid feeling in 
 any thing that Mr. Paulding has left behind him. 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S CAROUSAL. 
 
 Drink ! drink ! to whom shall we drink ? 
 To friend or a mistress ? Come, let me think ! 
 To those who are absent, or those who are here ? 
 To the dead that we loved, or the living still dear? 
 Alas ! when I look, I find none of the last ! 
 The present is barren — let's drink to the past. 
 [216] 
 
THE OLD man's CAROUSAL. 217 
 
 Come ! here's to the girl -with a voice sweet and low, 
 The eye all of fire and the bosom of snow, 
 Who erewhile in the days of my youth that are fled, 
 Once slept on my bosom, and pillowed my head ! 
 Would you know where to find such a delicate prize ? 
 Go seek in yon church-yard, for there she lies. 
 
 And here's to the Mend, the one friend of my youth, 
 With a head full of genius, a heart full of truth. 
 Who travelled with me in the sunshine of life. 
 And stood by my side in its peace and its strife ! 
 Would you know where to seek a blessing so rare ? 
 Go drag the lone sea, you may find him there. 
 
 And here's to a brace of twin cherubs of mine, 
 
 With hearts like their mother's, as pure as this wine. 
 
 Who came but to see the first act of the play, 
 
 Grew tired of the scene, and then both went away. 
 
 Would you know where this brace of bright cherubs have hied ? 
 
 Go seek them in heaven, for there they abide. 
 
 A bumper, my boys ! to a gray-headed pair, 
 Who watched o'er my childhood with tenderest care ; 
 God bless them, and keep them, and may they look down 
 On the head of their son, without tear, sigh, or frown ! 
 Would you know whom I drink to ? go seek 'mid the dead, 
 You will find both their names on the stone at their head. 
 
 And here's — but, alas ! the good wine is no more. 
 
 The bottle is emptied of all its bright store ; 
 
 Like those we have toasted, its spirit has fled. 
 
 And nothing is left of the light that it shed. 
 
 Then, a bumper of tears, boys ! the banquet here ends. 
 
 With a health to our dead, since we've no living friends. 
 
 TALES OF THE GOOD WOMAN appeared in 1829 ; and 
 CHRONICLES OF THE CITY OF GOTHAM in 1830 ; each 
 in one volume, and published by G. & C. & H. Car- 
 vUl, New York. They contain several of our author's 
 
218 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 best stories, such as " Dyspepsy " and " The Politi- 
 cian ", which, with sonae others, will form a volume 
 of the forthcoming select edition of his works. 
 
 Sometime in the year 1830 Mr. James H. Hackett, 
 the FalstafF of this century, and then known as a 
 rising American comedian, offered a prize of three 
 hundred dollars for " an original comedy whereof an 
 American should be the leading character." For this 
 prize he induced Mr. Paulding to compete, suggest- 
 ing, as I learn from himself, the title of drama and 
 hero ; viz :, " The Lion of the West ", and " Nimrod 
 Wildfire." The drama was pronounced by the com- 
 mittee, composed of William Cullen Bryant, Fitz- 
 Greene HaUeck and Prosper M. Wetmore, the best 
 offered for their consideration. 
 
 Before its production on the stage, (in 1831), I sup- 
 pose that something of its character had leaked out, 
 and that it had been by newspaper paragraphists 
 trumpeted abroad as a take-off of David Crockett, 
 then a member of the house of Representatives, At 
 any rate it is evident from the following letter that 
 about this time Mr. Paulding had written to that 
 well-known personage, disclaiming any intention of 
 the kind. The answer goes far to prove, that, though 
 the Colonel may not have been perfect in his spelling 
 or in the drill of the drawing room, he had the ring 
 of the true metal in him. 
 
 TO J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 "Washington City. 22"'* Dec. 1830. 
 Sir your letter of the 15 Inst was handed to me this day 
 by my friend M'- "Wilde — the newspaper publications to 
 which you refer I have never seen ; and if I had I should 
 not have taken the reference to myself in exclusion of many 
 
THE LION OF THE WEST. 219 
 
 who fill offices and who are as untaught as I am. I thank 
 you however for your civility in assuring me that you had no 
 reference to my peculiarites. The frankness of your letter 
 induces me to say a declaration from you to that effect was 
 not necessary to convince me that you were incapable of 
 wounding the feelings of a strainger and unlettered man who 
 had never injured you — your charecter for letters and as a 
 gentleman is not altogather unknown to me. 
 
 I have the honour with 
 
 great respects &c — 
 
 David Ckockett." 
 
 As for the drama, I have found no traces of the 
 original. Without doubt it was simply what Mr. 
 Hackett styles it, " a vivid initial sketch." It was 
 manipulated by Mr. J. A. Stone, an actor, the author 
 of " Metamora," and, as a melodrama in four acts, 
 was produced successfully by Mr. Hackett in all the 
 larger cities of the Union. Subsequently, during his 
 professional visit to England in the winter of 1832-3, 
 it was re-adapted by Mr. Bayle Bernard, and, under 
 the style of " A Kentuckian's trip to New York in 
 1815," "was produced at Covent Garden theatre, 
 London, April 1833, made a hit, had a run of several 
 weeks there and of about six weeks more thereafter 
 at the Haymarket theatre." 
 
 Mr. Hackett goes on to say : " I have repeatedly 
 acted the character in that drama in every principal 
 city of the U. States with applause, and in every 
 theatrical engagement I made for twenty years fol- 
 lowing; and it did not fail to amuse occasionally of 
 later years, though most of its jokes had lost their 
 point by the changes of time place and circum- 
 stances." 
 
220 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 There must have been a certain force and freshness 
 in the part, for it to have sustained itself so long. 
 And such I gather to be the fact from the following 
 quotation from The London Times, sent to me by 
 Mr. Hackett. The critic is referring to the character 
 of Nimrod Wildiire. " It is a pleasing one. He may 
 be compared to an open-hearted, childish, giant, whom 
 any one might deceive but none could daunt. His 
 whimsical extravagance of speech arises from a mere 
 exuberance of animal spirits; and his ignorance of 
 the conventional restraints of society he overbalances 
 by a heart that would scorn to do a mean or dis- 
 honest action." 
 
 Mr. Paulding was probably brought a good deal 
 into connexion with theatrical folk about this time, 
 and wrote, October 19th, 1831, to Irving, in reference 
 to John Howard Peyne, with whom his friend had 
 been somewhat concerned in dramatic work. The 
 " King Stephen " mentioned is Price, then (I think) 
 manager of the Park theatre in New York. 
 
 We are trying t» get up a benefit for John Payne here 
 against his return, but King Stephen demurs, and says John 
 is not worthy of it, being a borrower of money without pay- 
 ing, like many other honest gentlemen. The monarch has 
 signalized his return to his ancient dominion by divers tyran- 
 nical and pragmatical capers, and has already injured the 
 popularity of the theatre not a little. He is aiming at a 
 system of economy, which you know is unpopular in all 
 governments. The only person that as yet has been able to 
 control the tyrant, as the story goes, is an old virago who 
 scrubs the lobby, and, it is said, the other day made him re- 
 treat rather faster than became a gouty potentate. ... I 
 think Stephen will require a few protocols and non-interven- 
 tions to keep him on his throne. 
 
THE Dutchman's fireside. 221 
 
 It does not appear that Mr. Paulding made any 
 effort to follow up his dramatic success, if such it can 
 fairly be called. He had little turn that way, and the 
 appearance in this same year, 1831, of THE DUTCH- 
 MAN'S FIRESIDE, which made its mark at once, would 
 naturally have reverted his mind into the old channels. 
 This novel was published in two volumes by J. & J. 
 Harper, New York. Republished in England, and 
 translated into the French and Dutch languages, it 
 has ever since maintained its favor with the public. 
 Deservedly the most popular of our author's works, it 
 will form part of the forthcoming reprint. 
 
 In 1832 appeared WESTWARD HO !, in two volumes, 
 published by J. & J. Harper, New York. This novel 
 is the story of a family of Virginia, broken down by 
 prodigality in their old home, who remove with the 
 wreck of their fortunes to Kentucky while it is yet a 
 wilderness, and become wealthy again through the 
 natural progress of the country. 
 
 The whole of the opening sketch of the magnifico 
 of " The Old Dominion", and his establishment — his 
 sixteehth cousin, his darkeys, his merchant — is capi- 
 tal in tone and handling. I have room but for the 
 race which ruins him outright, and its immediate 
 results. 
 
 Colonel Cuthbert Dangerfield is introduced, at first 
 as deeply in debt, and gloomy in consequence. 
 
 "All at once, however, he seemed to rally again. A 
 notice appeared in the public papers, under the signa- 
 ture of a noted gentleman-sportsman, offering to run 
 his imported gray mare Lady MoUy Magpie, four 
 mile heats, at the next fall meeting, against all Vir- 
 ginia, for any sum from one to twenty thousand 
 
222 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 pounds, old currency. Colonel Dangerfield pricked 
 up his ears ; he had a famous horse yclept Barebones, 
 who had long reigned lord of the Virginia course, and 
 won him so much money, that he might have paid 
 the Scotch merchant if he had not lost it all in betting 
 on bay fillies, bright sorrels, and three year olds of his 
 own breeding, aU of whom had the misfortune to bolt, 
 break down, or be distanced, to his great astonishment 
 and mortification. He determined to accept the chal- 
 lenge, after which, as is usual with all wise men when 
 they have made up their minds, he went to consult 
 his wife on the matter." 
 In due time we have 
 
 THE RACE. 
 
 Time rolled on — the decisive hour approached — 
 the worthy Mr. Littlejohn for once gathered himself 
 together, cast aside the vis inertice with a mighty 
 effort, and became a most indefatigable attendant on 
 his illustrious friend Barebones, who was petted as 
 never quadruped was petted before or since, except it 
 might peradventure be a prize ox, a Teeswater bull, 
 or a royal ram from the Rambouillet flock during the 
 raging of the merino mania. It was now the charm- 
 ing month of October, when the earth and its foliage, 
 the sky, its sun and stars, are so often shaded with a 
 thin misty veil, that, while it obscures the face of 
 nature, at the same time renders it more touchingly 
 beautiful. All Virginia was in motion, from the allu- 
 vial to the primitive formation, from Chesapeake Bay 
 to the Blue Ridge. The high-mettled cavaliers of the 
 " Ancient Dominion " mounted their high-mettled 
 steeds, anticipated the next year's crop of tobacco, and 
 
WESTWARD HO ! 223 
 
 came with pockets richly lined ; and many an ample 
 estate long after rued the racing of that day. Nor 
 must we omit to record that Mrs. Dangerfield took 
 occasion to remind the Colonel, that, as it was possible 
 he might lose his bet of twenty thousand pounds, his 
 honour required that he should be prepared to pay on 
 the spot. He accordingly once more wrote to his old 
 friend the Scotch merchant, ofTering to give him a 
 deed of trust for his whole estate if he would advance 
 the sum of forty thousand pounds. The proposal 
 was accepted, the deed executed, and the inheritance 
 of six generations became subject to the disposition 
 of a stranger. 
 
 At length the day arrived big with the fate of Lady 
 MoUy Magpie and Barebones, of Allen of Claremont 
 and Dangerfield of Powhatan — and a glorious day 
 it was. Previous to its arrival, Barebones had been 
 escorted, with a dignity becoming the high destinies 
 connected with his speed and bottom, to the neigh- 
 bourhood of the racecourse. The colonel and Mr. 
 Littlejohn rode on either side, while Barebones, richly 
 caparisoned with a gorgeous blanket, and looking 
 through a pair of holes, Uke an old gentleman through 
 his spectacles, was led by uncle Pompey, or Pompey 
 Ducldegs, as he was most irreverently nicknamed by 
 the young ebonies, on the score of a pair of little 
 bandy drumsticks, by the aid of which he waddled 
 along after the fashion of that amphibious bird. 
 Pompey claimed and received this post of honour by 
 virtue of having once had the felicity of belonging to 
 Lord Dunmore, the last royal governor of Old Vir- 
 ginia. He considered himself as a branch of the 
 aristocracy, often boasted that he was one of the few 
 
224 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 gentlemen left in the Ancient Dominion, and never 
 failed to lay all the blame of bad crops on the revolu- 
 tion. When he recollected that Molly Magpie was an 
 " imported " horse, and a lady besides, his mind mis- 
 gave him sorely, for he could scarcely bring himself to 
 believe it possible that any animal foaled on this side 
 the Atlantic had a chance of success against one so 
 high bred and highly descended. " Dem rebel horse 
 no bottom," thought Pompey. Close behind Pompey 
 the Great rode Pompey the Little, his grandson, to 
 whom the conduct of Barebones was to be intrusted 
 in the coming contest between the houses of Clare- 
 mont and Powhatan. He was dressed in a sky-blue 
 jacket, red cap, and pantaloons of the same colour ; 
 and his black face presented a beautiful contrast to 
 the ivory teeth which he ever and anon displayed in 
 rows the brightest beauty in the land might have 
 envied, as he recalled to mind the promise of his mas- 
 ter, that, if he won the race, he wordd give him his 
 freedom and a htmdred a year for life. As thus they 
 walked their horses slowly and majestically along, 
 Pompey the Great would ever and anon turn round, 
 shake his fist at Pompey the Little, and exclaim, 
 " You young racksal, you no win dis here race, you 
 disgrace you family — mind, I say so." 
 
 The race was to take place precisely at one o'clock, 
 but long before the hour arrived the course was 
 thronged with thousands of people in carriages, on 
 horseback, and on foot, of all grades, sizes, ages, and 
 colours. The day was delightful, the air inspiring, and 
 the scene beautiful and lively beyond description. The 
 racecourse was on an elevated table-land, which com- 
 manded a view of the city of Richmond, its imposing 
 
WESTWARD HO ! 225 
 
 capitol (perhaps the most finely situated building in 
 the United States), the turbulent rapids of the majes- 
 tic river foaming and pelting its way among the rocks 
 and islands fast anchored in the waves, and its quiet 
 course beyond. It was a landscape which of itself 
 might occupy the attention for hours. But the ani- 
 mation of the course rendered a long abstraction quite 
 impossible. GaUant equipages every moment arriv- 
 ing, in which the pride of Virginia, her wives and 
 daughters, displayed their fair and delicate counte- 
 nances, — full-blooded horses champing the bit impa- 
 tiently, and pawing the ground as if anxious to contest 
 the prize of the day, or scouring the plain in aU direc- 
 tions, like the winged Arabs of the desert, communi- 
 cated indescribable gayety and interest to the scene. 
 But the gayest of the gay, the happiest of the 
 happy, the noisiest of the noisy, were the gentlemen 
 of colour, young and old, to whom this was a holyday 
 sanctioned by long prescription. Such a mortal dis- 
 play of ivory and crooked legs, such ecstatic gambols, 
 such triumphant buffoonery, such inspiring shouts, 
 such inimitable bursts of laughter, never were seen or 
 heard among the grave, reflecting progeny of freedom ; 
 and the spectator might have been tempted to ask 
 himself, " If these are not happy, at least at the 
 present moment, where is happiness to be found ? " 
 
 At twelve the champions appeared, and all was 
 hushed. The knowing ones followed Barebones and 
 Molly Magpie around the course, scanning them with 
 a keen and critical eye, and making up their minds 
 to bet on one or the other. The coloured rout 
 thronged along the way, looking as wise as their bet- 
 ters, and giving their opinions in prophetic whispers, 
 
 15 
 
226 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 or climbed the trees and fences to witness the coming 
 trial. Allen of Claremont and Dangerfield of Pow- 
 hatan met and saluted each other with the dignified 
 courtesy of two knights of chivalry on the eve of a 
 joust in honour of their respective ladies ; and it was 
 singular to observe with what a degree of interest 
 and almost sublimity the ownership of two such 
 famous horses and the large sums at stake invested 
 these two gallant cavaliers. The crowd followed 
 them whithersoever they went, and where they were 
 was the centre of attraction. 
 
 Tap — tap — tap! went the drum for the second 
 time — the judges ascended the stand of judgment — 
 the horses were brought to the starting pole champing 
 and foaming, as if partaking in the feelings of their 
 masters, and equally anxious for the event of the 
 struggle. For our part we have no doubt that race 
 horses are perfectly aware of the object for which 
 they are contesting, and share in the triumph of 
 victory. The judges were now standing with stop 
 watches counting the minutes, and a breathless si- 
 lence preceded the last tap of the drum. It was a 
 scene of almost unequalled excitement, and in spite 
 of all that may be said in disparagement of the sport, 
 we neither blame those that encourage, nor those who 
 partake in, its enjoyment, with due moderation. 
 
 Tap — tap — tap! went the drum for the third time. 
 The riders were mounted, and the yellow cap and 
 green vest of Allen of Claremont appeared side by 
 side with the red cap and blue vest of Dangerfield 
 of Powhatan. As Pompey the Great lifted Pom- 
 pey the Little to the saddle, he repeated for the last 
 time, 
 
WESTWARD HO ! 227 
 
 " Now you dem racksal, you no win dis race, you 
 disgrace to you family." 
 
 The signal was given, and the two noble animals 
 went off with a bound, as if they had suddenly been 
 gifted with the wings of the wind. Now Molly Mag- 
 pie, being the lighter and weaker of the two, gained 
 upon Barebones, as they came to a little descending 
 ground ; and anon Barebones shot ahead, as they rose 
 upon the ascent. The first two rounds continued 
 thus alternately in favour of one or the other, the 
 little red cap and the yellow appeared perched in the 
 air, and the riders seemed hardly to touch the horses 
 they rode. A dead and breathless silence held cap- 
 tive the crowd, and Allen and Dangerfield might be 
 seen, each on a little eminence in the centre of the 
 field, watching the struggle with a steady countenance 
 and calm determined eye. The third round, Bare- 
 bones decidedly took the lead : first a head, then a 
 neck, then a whole body appeared in advance, and 
 by the time they arrived at the goal, Barebones was 
 computed to be ten lengths ahead of Molly Magpie. 
 The assembled multitude shouted " Victory ! Hurrah 
 for Barebones ! ", and as for old Pompey, he scarcely 
 waited for little red cap to be weighed after the heat, 
 when he hugged him in his arms, and pronounced 
 him an honour to his family. 
 
 The second heat was contested with equal obsti- 
 nacy, but not with the like result; Molly Magpie 
 came in ahead of Barebones, and the knowing ones 
 began to hedge. Just at the moment of starting for 
 the third and last heat, Allen of Claremont exclaimed, 
 in a loud voice, 
 
 " Twenty thousand more on the gray mare ! " 
 
228 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 The temptation was irresistible. 
 
 " Done ! " cried Dangerfield. 
 
 " Done!" cried Allen; and at that instant the horses 
 started to decide the fortunes of the house of Pow- 
 hatan. For the whole of the rounds you might have 
 covered them both with a blanket, and nobody knew 
 which had won, until the judges, after some consulta- 
 tion, decided in favour of Molly Magpie, by half a 
 head. The same voices that had shouted and huz- 
 zaed for Barebones now shouted and huzzaed for 
 Molly Magpie — such is the instability of popular 
 applause ; and it is recorded that Pompey the Great 
 fought that day six pitched battles with certain gen- 
 tlemen of colour, who belonged to the faction of the 
 gray mare. Yet for aU this he could not help saying 
 to himself, " Eh ! dem I spect so ; dem rumpublican 
 horse he no hold candle to tudder." 
 
 Dangerfield dined with the sporting club; toasted 
 the winning horse, laughed his laugh, joked his joke, 
 and received the compliments of many a sympathiz- 
 ing cavalier on the speed and bottom of Barebones, 
 the conqueror of a hundred fields, with an air of care- 
 less self possession, that might have aspired to the 
 honours of philosophy had the occasion been more 
 worthy. He felt that he was a ruined man, but he 
 was determined no one shoiild penetrate his feelings, 
 most especially Allen of Claremont. 
 
 " If it is inconvenient to you, colonel," said Allen. 
 
 " O, not in the least," said Dangerfield ; and the 
 debt was paid on the spot. 
 
 " Will you sell Barebones ? " 
 
 " No, sir," replied the other, and abruptly turned 
 away. 
 
WESTWARD HO ! 229 
 
 The next morning, the procession which set out 
 with such exulting anticipations, returned home 
 downcast and dejected, with the exception of the 
 Colonel, who was determined to present a dignified 
 front to Mrs. Dangerfield. Mr. Littlejohn, who had 
 not uttered a single word since the loss of the race, 
 rode carelessly on, scarcely holding his bridle which 
 hung loosely on his horse's mane, and now and then 
 casting his eye with a look of commiseration on his 
 benefactor ; old Pompey did nothing but shake his fist 
 at little Pompey; and even Barebones seemed con- 
 scious of his defeat, for he slouched along with his 
 head depressed, and had hardly spirit to brush away 
 the flies with his tail. 
 
 The result of this disaster is a determination to 
 emigrate to Kentucky, " the dark and bloody ground ", 
 and make a fresh start in life. Dangerfield notifies 
 his cousin of these matters. 
 
 " When the colonel apprized him of the transfer of 
 his property to Mactabb, and the intended emigration 
 to Kentucky, he exclaimed, with uncontrollable emo- 
 tion, ' My G — d ! ' ; and burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 " His benefactor, who had never suspected him of 
 so much feeling, endeavoured to comfort him, by sug- 
 gesting a variety of topics of consolation. But it 
 was all in vain ; he continued to weep with a degree 
 of convulsive agitation exceedingly painful. The long 
 winter, which had frozen his feelings into ice, seemed 
 to have broken up on a sudden, and the waters flowed 
 forth scorning all restraint. 
 
 ' Don't take on so, Ulysses,' said the colonel ; ' I am 
 not so poor but I can allow you something to live on 
 
230 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 when I am gone. Mactabb will receive you for a 
 small allowance, and that I can spare without diffi- 
 culty.' 
 
 ' May the thunder and lightning strike Mactabb 
 and all his race!' cried Littlejohn, suddenly check- 
 ing his emotion, or rather turning it into another 
 channel. 
 
 'Shame, Littlejohn, shame! — what has Mr. Mac- 
 tabb done that you should set the thunder and light- 
 ning at him ? ' 
 
 ' He's got Powhatan, d — n him ! ' 
 
 ' Well, what of that ? he came by it honestly.' 
 
 ' I don't believe it. I don't believe it possible for 
 one man to get the estate of another honestly. It 
 stands to reason the Old Boy must help him, more or 
 less.' 
 
 " The colonel could not forbear a smile at this theory 
 of Mr. Littlejohn. 
 
 ' The Old Boy sometimes helps people to get rid of 
 an estate, I believe, as well as to get one. But I'll 
 tell you what, Ulysses, I intend to give you Bare- 
 bones. I can't bear to sell him.' 
 
 ' Barebones, colonel ! — I wouldn't have him if he 
 carried a packsaddle of guineas ; he's just fit to take 
 a bag of corn to mill, and be hanged to him ! Blame 
 me if I believe in his pedigree.' 
 
 ' You don't, Mr. Littlejohn ? Let me tell you, 
 sir — confound me, sir ! — let me tell you, Mr. Lit- 
 tlejohn,' — and the colonel spoke between his shut 
 teeth, — 'that if your pedigree were as undoubted as 
 that of Barebones, you might hold up your head a 
 little higher than you do. Look here, sir,' — jerking 
 out his pocket-book, — ' look here, sir,' — taking out a 
 
WESTWARD HO ! 231 
 
 piece of smokedried paper, — 'look here, sir,' — un- 
 folding it, — ' dam, Kitty Fisher, sir ; grandam. Slow 
 and Easy, si*r; great-grandam. Singed Cat, sir; 
 great-great-grandam. Pettitoes, sir; great-great-great- 
 grandam — 'sblood! Mr. Littlejohn, I expect the 
 next thing you do will be to call me the son of a 
 tinker ! ' 
 
 " A moment after, the hand of Mr. Littlejohn was 
 clasped in his own, for he remembered that Ulysses 
 was a dependent, and himself his benefactor. 
 
 ' "Well, well, colonel, I'm sure I didn't mean to 
 affront you; but that tobacco merchant has put me 
 so out that I hardly know what I say. I beg your 
 pardon for undervaluing poor Barebones.' 
 
 " This was the first time he had ever begged the 
 colonel's pardon, and he did it now in compliment to 
 his misfortunes." 
 
 Our author can never write many pages without 
 his overpowering love of nature breaking forth, and 
 these two volumes are not wanting in fine descrip- 
 tions. The character and story of Bushfield, the 
 backwoodsman, have something strildng about them ; 
 and the election scene is full of life. The sketches 
 of Western boatmen; of a village editor, and his 
 wife, a village gossip ; and of the itinerant preacher ; 
 though rough, are spirited. But the course of the 
 story is painful, and, like most of the author's, it does 
 not hang very closely together. It however ends 
 happily. 
 
 I make but one more extract. The following ora- 
 tion of the old Frenchman of the old village — both 
 passing away before the encroachments of the Ameri- 
 can people — is not only amusing, but suggestive. 
 
232 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " ' Ah ! monsieur,' said the landlord, an old remnant 
 of the ancient regime : ' Ah ! monsieur, the Yankee 
 are one great people, but then she always so busy, 
 busy, busy, morning, noon, and night. Diable! she 
 don't give himselves time to say their prayers, I think. 
 She come here among us, and she must ave new 
 road : very well, the road is make at last. Eh bien ! 
 then she must ave a canal right long side of him, and 
 everybody must give money for him. Very good, 
 then we shall ave new streets, a new court-house, a 
 new market, and a new church. So she come round 
 for more money for that. Then she goes on, busy, 
 busy, busy, never satisfied, more work, more money, 
 and aU for the dem publique good. Diable ! I won- 
 der what the publique ever do for me that I shall 
 work for him as if he was the king himself? Well, 
 monsieur, we ave got new road, new canal, new court- 
 house, new market, and new church ; and now I say 
 to myself, ha, hah ! I think she must ave satisfaccion 
 at last. Phew! no such thing; she must ave town 
 meeting to choose the police; then she must ave 
 town meeting to choose the legislator ; then she must 
 ave town meeting to send the president and his 
 bureau all to le diable, for something 1 don't know. 
 Eh bien ! aU this done, I say ha hah ! I shall dance 
 and sing now a leetle. Phew! Morbleu, no such 
 thing. Next time all this to do over again. The 
 government machine out of order, she say, and must 
 set it right again. So we go, year after year, making 
 the grande improvement, and mending the govern- 
 ment; and we Frenchmen, bongr^, malgrd, must do 
 every thing de haute lutte, when we had much rather 
 do nothing at all. Peste ! that I shall be condemned 
 
WESTWARD ho! 233 
 
 to live in one dem country, always in want of im- 
 provement, under a government that always want 
 mending. What you call? Ah! the dem self-gov- 
 ernment more trouble than she is worth, I think. 
 For my part, monsieur, I like somebody shall take 
 it off my hands, and let me dance a leetle some 
 time." 
 
XV. 
 
 1832-1835. [Ml. 54-57.] 
 
 LETTEES TOIEVINO — CONTBACT WITH HAEPEE ABD BEOTHEES — LETTEKS, 
 TO BKEVOOET AND lEVIHG EANDOLPH OF KOANOKB. 
 
 At the close of the year 1832 and beginning of the 
 next we have several characteristic utterances of Mr. 
 Paulding, in letters to Irving, then at Washington. 
 
 New Toek. Deer. 30, 1832. 
 A man by the name of Herring has applied to me for some 
 particulars of your life and writings, to be used in a biography 
 to accompany a likeness, for a publication called the National 
 Portrait Gallery. Shall I respond to the vLQain ? 
 
 And, in the succeeding one, (an answer to the 
 former evidently having been received in the in- 
 terim): — 
 
 January Tth, 1833. 
 You mistook me a little on the subject of the biography. 
 I was applied to for facts, not to write the whole ; but I have 
 made interest to see the article before it is published, that I 
 may if possible "restrain and aggravate" the fury of the 
 writer, whose name I cannot learn. 
 
 A third closes with a threat. Whoever knew the 
 two men will know also that this was indeed a dire 
 menace. 
 
 March 7th, 1833. 
 When are you coming home ? If you don't come soon we 
 shall inflict another public dinner on you. 
 [234] 
 
LETTER TO BRETOOET. 235 
 
 In 1833 and 1834 our author came before the pub- 
 lic with no literary effort of any consequence. In 
 November of the former year he entered into a con- 
 tract with Harper and Brothers for the republication 
 in uniform style of all his works then written ; but cir- 
 cumstances prevented this from being ever fully carried 
 out. The year 1834 renews the long-suspended cor- 
 respondence with Brevoort, in a single letter addressed 
 to him at Paris. Nothing exasperated Mr. Paulding 
 so much as servility to foreign titles, and here he dis- 
 charges himself, briefly, but very much to the point. 
 The book he mentions I take to have been a transla- 
 tion into French of " "Westward Ho ! " 
 
 New Yoke 26th March, 1834. 
 
 Dear Brevookt, 
 
 I thank you for the book, and especially for the pleasant 
 letter which accompanied it. It is full of excellent mat- 
 ter, and realizes my ideas of how my excellent country- 
 men and countrywomen, with a few honorable exceptions 
 like yourself, support the stern republican character abroad. 
 There is not one in fifty that would not lick the dust at the 
 foot of the Blood Royal. 
 
 He thus pleasantly refers to his friend's expected 
 return. 
 
 "Washington says you are coming home this spring. I am 
 glad of it, because it will add one more of my old friends to 
 the small number left, and because I think you ought to be 
 here, to brighten the last few years of the good old couple at 
 the good old home in the Bowery. They will grow young 
 again. 
 
 I have mentioned that Mr. Paulding had, in his 
 early experience at Washington, formed the acquaint- 
 ance of John Randolph. They grew to like each 
 
236 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 other, and I find various allusions to their intercourse 
 in our author's correspondence and memoranda. As 
 early as February 28, 1816, he writes to Brevoort : — 
 I spent last evening with Jack Randolph, of -whom I shall 
 tell you something one of these days. We had much rare 
 talk, and I could not help confessing, that, with all his weak- 
 nesses, he was one of the most delightful persons in the 
 world. His conversation possesses a 'piquancy, as the French 
 say, which I have met with nowhere else. 
 
 The promise in the above he makes good in the 
 following letter, of March 26, 1816. 
 
 I have lately spent some choice evenings with Jack Ran- 
 dolph, who has treated me with singular attention since he 
 found me out here. The other night Irving [William, no 
 doubt] and I went over to Georgetown to beat up his quar- 
 ters. We found him at least ten degrees below zero, a good 
 deal indisposed, and I believe fancying himself much more so 
 than he really was. At first it was rather so so — but at last 
 we got him fairly up, with telling stories and talking about 
 New York, where he was at college about twenty-seven years 
 ago, and where he says he forgot all that he knew when he 
 went there. He knows more of the ancient state of the city 
 than any man I ever met with, and Irving and he fell tooth 
 and nail at old recollections. . . . 
 
 In this way we went on, Randolph giving anecdote after 
 anecdote, and story after story of some of the most distin- 
 guished men of this country. My memory is so bad that 
 half of them have slipped away, and if they had not I could 
 not do justice to the excellent dramatic manner in which they 
 were given. . . . The time slipped away till almost twelve, 
 and when we went away he thanked us for making him for- 
 get that he was sick when we came. 
 
 New York, October 19, 1831, he writes to Irving. 
 
 Our eccentric friend Randolph arrived here a few days ago, 
 
RANDOLPH OP ROANOKE. 237 
 
 apparently in the last stage of decay, but whether really so is 
 more than I can tell, for he has seemed in this situation from 
 the time I first knew him some thirty years ago. 
 
 Very late in life he made this memorandum : — 
 " Gravity is not wisdom, nor merriment folly. I 
 have known one man, at least, whose jests were 
 often equal to the wisest precepts of philosophy, and 
 that was John Randolph of Roanoke." 
 
 In the summer of 1835 " Letters from the South " 
 were republished under the arrangement with Harper 
 and Brothers, and with considerable alterations and 
 additions. Among the latter was the character of 
 John Randolph which I am about to quote. I have 
 interpolated a few sentences from a newspaper sketch. 
 It is well to remember that Randolph was born June 
 2, 1773, and died June 24, 1833. The characterization 
 is referred to the year 1817. 
 
 RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. 
 
 Among the descendants of Pocahontas, the most 
 remarkable are John Randolph and Boiling Robert- 
 son, each exhibiting in complexion and physiognomy 
 indubitable traces of the common stock. The eyes of 
 both are perfectly Indian — black, shining, and occa- 
 sionally fierce. Indeed, I have never met with a man 
 having a cross of the aboriginal, that did not show it 
 like a blood-horse. The marks seem indelible, both in 
 body and mind. 
 
 In my visit to Washington, four winters ago, it was 
 my fortune to lodge in the same hotel with Mr. Ran- 
 dolph, and to be favored with his acquaintance, I 
 might almost say his friendship, which, notwithstand- 
 ing his alleged wayward disposition is, I am told, 
 
238 LITERAET LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 generally steadfast and sincere. He is certainly the 
 most extraordinary personage I have known, and, on 
 the whole, the greatest orator I have heard. There is 
 wit in every thing he says, and eloquence at the very 
 end of his long fingers. He is the last man in the 
 world into whose hands I should wish to fall in a 
 debate, for he cuts with a two-edged sword, and 
 makes war like his Indian ancestors, sparing neither 
 sex nor age. Yet his kindness is irresistible, and 
 when he wishes to evince it, the tones of his voice 
 and the expression of his eye go equally to the 
 heart. 
 
 • His style of oratory in Congress is emphatically his 
 own. He is, indeed, original and unique in every 
 thing. His language is simple, though polished; 
 brief, though rich, and as direct as the arrow from 
 the Indian bow. He often tides away, apparently, 
 from his subject, but, however he may seem to drift 
 without rudder or compass, never fails to return with 
 a dash, illustrating it with flashes of living light 
 Though eccentric in the ordinary intercourse of life, 
 there will be found more of what is called plain com- 
 mon-sense in his speeches than in those of any other 
 member of Congress. His illustrations are almost 
 always drawn from the most familiar sources, and 
 no man is so happy in allusions to fables, proverbs, 
 and incidents of the day. He never declaims, or sac- 
 rifices strength, clearness, and simplicity, to the more 
 popular charms of redundant metaphor and full- 
 rounded periods. He is abrupt, sententious, and 
 laconic. Nothing, indeed, is more easy of compre- 
 hension than the expressed ideas of the great orator 
 of Old Virginia. Though exceedingly irritable in 
 
RANDOLPH OP ROANOKE. 239 
 
 debate, he is never loud or boisterous, but utters biting 
 sarcasms in a manner the most provokingly cool, and 
 a voice that suggests the music of the spheres. Such 
 is the admirable clearness and perfection of his enun- 
 ciation, that his lowest tones circulate like echoes 
 through the haU of Congress. In. short, in aU the 
 requisites of a great orator he has no superior ; and, 
 in the greatest of all, the power of attracting, charm- 
 ing, riveting the attention of an audience, no equal in 
 this country. 
 
 Mr. Randolph has shared the fortune of most politi- 
 cal leaders, in having his conduct misrepresented, his 
 foibles — which, heaven knows, are sufficiently formid- 
 able — exaggerated, and his peculiarities caricatured, 
 without remorse. The fault is, in a great measure, 
 his own. He spares no adversary, and has no right 
 to expect quarter from others. In this respect his fate 
 may serve as a beacon, indicating the necessity of tol- 
 eration in poUtics as well as religion. That he is 
 capricious, and careless of wounding those for whom 
 he has no particular regard, no one wiU deny. That 
 he is impatient in argument, and intolerant of oppo- 
 sition, is equally certain ; and the whole world knows 
 that he is little solicitous to disguise his contempt or 
 dislike. 
 
 But, whatever may be the defects of Mr. Randolph's 
 temper, no one can question his lofty independence of 
 mind, or his unsuUied integrity as a public agent or a 
 private gentleman. In the former character he has 
 never abandoned his principles to suit any political 
 crisis, and in the latter he may be emphatically called 
 an honest man. His word and his bond are equally to 
 be relied on — and as his country can never accuse 
 
240 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 him of sacrificing her interests to his own ambition, 
 so no man can justly charge him with the breach of 
 any private obligation. In both these respects he 
 stands an illustrious example to a country in which 
 political talents are much more common than political 
 integrity, and where it is too much the custom to 
 forget the actions of a man in admiration of his 
 speeches. 
 
 Much of his peevishness may find its origin and 
 excuse in his physical suiTerings. Almost from boy- 
 hood he has not known the blessing of health, nor 
 enjoyed even its anticipation. His constitution is irre- 
 trievably broken ; and though he may live many years, 
 they will, in all probability, be years of anxiety and 
 suffering, imbittered not only by the absence of hope, 
 but by the ridicule, instead of the sympathy, of the 
 world, which is ever too apt to suppose that a man 
 cannot be sick without dying. Men lingering under 
 the slow consuming decay of a constitutional infirmity, 
 and perishing, not by inches, but the hundredth parts 
 of an inch, seem to me the most pitiable of the human 
 race. The world, and even their nearest friends, come 
 at last to believe their malady imaginary, their com- 
 plaints without cause. They grow tired of hearing a 
 man always proclaiming himself a victim to disease, 
 yet at the same time appearing to take his share in the 
 business, as weU as the enjoyments, of society, and 
 living on like the rest of his feUow-worms. " They 
 jest at scars that never felt a wound," and the very 
 circumstance that should excite additional commisera- 
 tion, too often gives occasion to cold neglect or flip- 
 pant ridicule. 
 
 In this painful and trying condition was Mr. Ran- 
 
RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. 241 
 
 dolph when I saw him, and it is but fair to urge that 
 some apology at least for his indifTerence to the feel- 
 ings of others might be found in the harassing nature 
 of his own. I know of no situation more aptly calcu- 
 lated to make a man a misanthrope ; and those who 
 are foremost and loudest in their condemnation, would 
 do weU to look into their own hearts, put themselves 
 in his place, and then ask whether it does not naturally 
 lead to, though it may not justify, occasional petu- 
 lance, if not habitual ill-temper. I here speak of him 
 as the world generally does. But so far as I saw 
 him, and this was at all hours, he was fuU of benig- 
 nity. His treatment of his servants, and especially of 
 his own slaves, was that of the most indulgent master; 
 and he always called his personal attendant " Johnny," 
 which diminutive, to my mind, strongly indicated an 
 habitual good-wiU toward them. It is thus we desig- 
 nate our familiar friends, and the children of our love. 
 To me, from whose admiration or applause he could 
 anticipate neither honor nor advantage, his behavior 
 was uniformly kind, almost affectionate, and it wiU be 
 long before I forget his melancholy, yet winning smile, 
 the music of his voice, or the magic of his gentle 
 manners. 
 
 We passed our evenings together for some weeks, 
 or rather I may say the better part of our nights, for 
 he loved to sit up late, because, as he was wont to say, 
 the grave, not the bed, was his place of rest. On these 
 occasions there was a charm in his conversation 1 
 never found in that of any other person. Old Vir- 
 ginia was the goddess of his idolatry, and of her he 
 delighted to talk. He loved her so dearly, that he 
 sometimes almost forgot he was also a citizen of the 
 
 16 
 
242 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 United States. The glories and triumphs of Patrick 
 Henry's eloquence, and the ancient hospitality of the 
 patricians on James River, were among his favorite 
 topics, of which he never tired, and with which he 
 never tired me. In short, the impression on my mind, 
 never to be eradicated, is, that his heart was naturally 
 liberal, open, and gracious, and that his occasional 
 ebullitions of splenetic impatience are the spontane- 
 ous, perhaps irrepressible, efforts of a debilitated frame, 
 to relieve itself a moment from the impression of its 
 own ceaseless worrying. 
 
 Mr. Randolph is, beyond comparison, the most strik- 
 ing person I have ever seen. He is made up of con- 
 tradictions. Though his person is exceedingly taU, 
 thin, and ill-proportioned, he is the most graceful man 
 in the world when he pleases; and with an almost 
 feminine voice, his whispers are heard across a room. 
 When seated on the opposite side of the haU of Con- 
 gress, he looks like a boy of fifteen; but when he 
 rises to speak, he seems to stretch and expand his 
 figure almost into sublimity, from the contrast be- 
 tween his height when sitting and standing. In the 
 former, his shoulders are raised, his head sunk, his 
 body collapsed; in the latter he is seen, his figure 
 dilated, in the attitude of inspiration, his head raised, 
 his long white finger pointing, and his dark Indian 
 eye flashing at the object of his overwhelming sar- 
 casm. 
 
 I regret to add, that this extraordinary man will, in 
 aU probability, survive but a few years. A premature 
 decay seems gradually creeping, almost imperceptibly, 
 over aU his vital powers, and an irresistible, unseen 
 influence, that bafiles human skill and human means, 
 
RANDOLPH OP ROANOKE. 243 
 
 appears to be dragging hira like an inexorable creditor 
 to the grave. At the age of forty-one or two, with 
 wealth in possession, fame as his handmaid, and glory 
 and power in bright perspective, he is a mere wreck 
 of humanity; with light glossy hair parted over his 
 forehead, and tied with a black ribbon behind ; teeth 
 white as ivory, eyes instinct with intellect, and a coun- 
 tenance seamed with innumerable wrinkles. At the 
 distance of a hundred yards, he may be mistaken for 
 an overgrown boy ; approach him, and at every step 
 his appearance changes, and he becomes gradually 
 metamorphosed into a decrepit old man. You wiU 
 then see a face such as you never have seen, never 
 will see again ; if he likes you, a smile such as you 
 never beheld light up another visage ; and when that 
 passes away, a countenance wearing an expression of 
 anxiety and suffering, that will make your heart ache 
 if it never ached before. 
 
 Such is John Randolph, the descendant of Poca- 
 hontas, as he appeared to me. He may be self-willed, 
 and erratic. His opponents sometimes insinuate that 
 he is crazy, because he sees what they cannot see, and 
 speaks in the spirit of inspiration of things to come. 
 He looks into the clear mirror of futurity with an eye 
 that never winks, and they think he is staring at some 
 phantom of his own creation. He talks of things past 
 their comprehension, and they pronounce him mad. 
 
 Would to Heaven there were more such madmen 
 among our rulers and legislators, to make folly silent 
 and wickedness ashamed; to assert and defend the 
 principles of our revolution; to detect quack poli- 
 ticians, quack lawyers, and quack divines; and to 
 afford to their countrymen examples of inflexible 
 integrity both in public and private Mfe. 
 
XVI. 
 
 1835-1836. [^T. 57-58.J 
 
 A LIFE OF WASHINGTON — A LEGEND OF THE BIRD'S NEST — THE TOMB OF 
 WASHINGTON — THE CHARACTEK OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 In the winter of 1835-6 two small and unpretend- 
 ing volumes were published by Harper and Brothers, 
 under the modest title of "A LIFE OF WASHINGTON. 
 By James K. Paulding." They are at present kept 
 in print in connexion with " The Family Library " of 
 the original publishers. The Messrs. Duyckinck, in 
 their " Cyclopaedia of American Literature ", thus 
 characterize this work. 
 
 " It is an admirable production, and shows conclu- 
 sively that the author is equally qualified for a differ- 
 ent sphere of literature from that to which he has 
 principally devoted himself. Though written with a 
 steady glow of patriotism, and a fuU perception of the 
 exalted character and services of the Father of his 
 country, it is pure from all approaches to inflation, 
 exaggeration, and bombast. The style is character- 
 ized by simplicity combined with vigor ; the narrative 
 is clear and sufficiently copious without redundancy, 
 comprising all the important events of the life of the 
 hero, interspersed with various characteristic anecdotes 
 which give additional interest to the work, without 
 degrading it to mere gossip, and is strongly imbued 
 with the nationality of the author. Being addressed 
 [244] 
 
A LIFE OF WASHINGTON. 245 
 
 to the youthful reader, he frequently pauses in his nar- 
 rative to inculcate the example of "Washington's pri- 
 vate and pubKc virtues on his readers. The character 
 of Washington, as summed up at the conclusion, is 
 one of the most complete we have ever met with." 
 
 For this undertaking Mr. Paulding was, in one 
 respect at least, eminently qualified. He was gifted 
 with a thorough and sympathetic insight into the per- 
 sonality of Washington. Perhaps of aU that have yet 
 written his life he had the truest appreciation of the 
 man. All his days, Washington was his model char- 
 acter. 
 
 In the Second Series of Salmagundi, in the num- 
 ber for January 19, 1820, he introduced a little narra- 
 tive, which, if not strictly true, has a verisimilitude 
 which almost dignifies it into the regions of authen- 
 tic history. Certain details of this, as I learn from 
 some remaining memoranda, were gathered at a very 
 early period of his life. In the summer of 1861, at 
 the solicitation of the late George P. Morris, I repub- 
 lished it in " The Home Journal ", with other papers 
 of my father's, prefacing it with some remarks, a por- 
 tion of which I here reproduce, 
 
 " It may be worth while to state that this is not a 
 mere fancy sketch. The scene is still to be recognized 
 in the heart of the Highlands. The graves have not 
 yet given up their tenants; the mouldering stones 
 preserve their melancholy record ; the old church par- 
 tially maintains its ground, though about to be re- 
 placed by a new structure; and the house described 
 is now ' The Bird's Nest,' so styled by Mr. John Brown, 
 at one time its owner, and as great an oddity as ever 
 lived, who will be remembered by old play-goers in 
 
246 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Boston in the character of Tony Lumpkin. Altered 
 and added to, it is at present the residence of Upjohn, 
 the architect. The road to this has been changed 
 within a few years, but the ravine is as it was, and 
 one of the old cherry-trees, a very patriarch of its race, 
 yearly puts forth healthy leaves, among which other 
 birds yet sing their unchanged notes. The water- 
 course in front of the house now carries only a tiny rill, 
 but the brook below still leaps its way to the lake-like 
 river still sentinelled by the stately mountain heights. 
 
 " Colonel Beverly Robinson, in the right of Susan- 
 nah, his wife, was the landlord under whom the 
 tenancy was held. The old couple bore a name yet 
 familiar to Highland ears as one of the most respect- 
 able in the county of Putnam. 
 
 " But we are not, at the present writing, sure that the 
 author's recollections, or the old lady's perhaps con- 
 fused reminiscences, have not betrayed him into an 
 error in the statement that the house was used, (at all 
 events for any length of time), as the quarters of 
 GenerEil Putnam. As regards the concluding incident, 
 there is no one living to give us any information, but 
 we are satisfied that it rests upon some tradition picked 
 up in the author's early experiences in Westchester 
 county, and, through a pardonable freedom, inter- 
 woven with the present sketch." 
 
 Here follows the paper. I call it 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE BIRD'S NEST. 
 
 " Who does not love to list the old wife's tale 
 Of former days, told in her rambling way, 
 And full of repetitions — yet most rare, 
 And worthy of the ear of list'ning youth, 
 Gathered about the rousing winter's fire ? " 
 
 I love to talk with old people who remember the 
 
A LEGEND OP THE BIRD'S NEST. 24T 
 
 revolutionary war, and hear them tell those stories of 
 domestic heroism, of solitary and patient suffering, 
 they have treasured in their memories, and which 
 escape the notice of the historian. It is from these 
 rural chronicles that we often gather trivial incidents 
 that let us into the true characters of illustrious men, 
 who, when in public, act before the great audience of 
 nations, but who, in the solitary farm-house, or rural 
 village, among people too lowly to be any restraint 
 upon their actions or deportment, appear in their 
 night-gown and slippers. The little drama, thus 
 simply exhibited in the unstudied narrative of talking 
 age, to me is far more interesting than pompous de- 
 tails of fallen empires or dethroned kings, whose 
 weakness or ambition, whose foUies or crimes, drew 
 down upon them the ruin they deserved. 
 
 Besides exhibiting more of the real picture of hu- 
 man life than a hundred swelling biographies of dead 
 or living heroes, these traditionary narratives combine 
 the simplicity of truth with the interest of romance 
 and the beauty of poetry, which are indebted to this 
 source for a great portion of their most charming 
 incidents. There is also another advantage in this 
 legendary lore which history seldom possesses. His- 
 tory is for the most part hearsay ; tradition, like the 
 witness in a court of justice, relates what it has seen, 
 and the impressions communicated to the listener are 
 those of the actor or the spectator himself. 
 
 In one of the romantic and sequestered scenes that 
 abound along the banks of the Hudson, resided, a few 
 years ago, an old woman, who, though above four- 
 score, had retained all her faculties, and especially the 
 faculty of speech. The house in which she lived had 
 
248 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 been the quarters of General Putnam, during that 
 gloomy winter in which our army lay in the Highlands, 
 and had often been honored with the presence of 
 Washington. It was a large farm-house, that, having 
 never been contaminated with paint, retained a truly 
 Quaker-like simplicity; and was so little an object of 
 respect to the tenants of the farm-yard, that the chick- 
 ens made no ceremony in coming in and picking up 
 the crumbs that fell from the good man's table. It was 
 of considerable length, one story high, and its whole 
 appearance accorded with the homely, careless sim- 
 plicity which stUl characterizes the establishment of 
 an honest, independent, American farmer. 
 
 Before the door ran a mountain-brook, which, in its 
 rapid course toward the river, had ploughed a deep 
 ravine, whose sides were covered with grass, and 
 skirted by a row of English cherry-trees almost a cen- 
 tury old. Here hundreds of chirping birds came to 
 steal cherries, and sing their merry madrigals undis- 
 turbed ; for the old lady had more than she wanted, 
 and so had her neighbors, so that there was enough for 
 birds and all. Below the house the brook became a 
 torrent, and forced its way among immense masses of 
 rocks shadowed with dark hemlocks and solemn pines, 
 with now and then a wild flower trembling on the 
 brink of the steep, and by a succession of cascades at 
 length tumbled into the river, forming a little cove of 
 alders, and all the tribes of shrubbery that love the 
 fresh water-side. 
 
 The whole landscape was shut in by lofty moun- 
 tains, woody and waving, at whose foot rolled the 
 majestic stream, which was seen here and there, like a 
 cluster of little lakes reposing in the cool shadows of 
 
A LEGEND OF THE BIRD'S NEST. 249 
 
 the hills. Within about a half mile of the house was 
 a singular-looking church, which, though neither pic- 
 turesque nor magnificent nor antique, gave a cast of 
 greater dignity to the scene, by connecting the glori- 
 ous works of the Creator with the grateful homage 
 of his humble creatures. I remember going there one 
 Sunday morning, some years ago, and being struck 
 with the rustic simplicity not only of the church but 
 also of the preacher, the service, and indeed the whole 
 congregation. But what most excited my attention 
 was the good dame who is the heroine of this story. 
 She sat in a pew, close by an open window which 
 looked into a corner of the burial-ground, where, 
 under more than a dozen gravestones, reposed the 
 remains of aU that portion of the family which she 
 had survived. Here lay her parents, her children, and 
 grandchildren ; here she could receive a sad, impres- 
 sive, lesson of the inevitable fate of all that breathe ; 
 and here she doubtless reconciled herself to her own, 
 by the cheering hope that she was going to meet more 
 dear friends than she would leave behind her when 
 she died. 
 
 Being accustomed to visit an old and hospitable 
 friend whose mansion is not far from the place I have 
 been describing, I formed an acquaintance with the 
 worthy dame by often stopping in my rambles, to rest 
 myself, and listen to her stories about Washington 
 and Putnam, and other revolutionary heroes of less 
 note. For fear my frequent visits may excite a little 
 scandal among some of my gossiping readers, I may 
 as well take this oportunity to mention, that she had 
 a husband at the time of which I am speaking, who 
 was older than herself. He died a few years ago; 
 
250 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 and all that I remember of him is, that he was a little 
 old man, with a head as white as the winter snow 
 on the tops of his native mountains, and that at the 
 age of eighty he used to turn out of a frosty morning 
 to cut up a load of wood by way of exercise. 
 
 My chief pleasure in the society of this aged dame 
 consisted in hearing her talk of the great names that 
 frequented her home "in the war-time." I would 
 give much if I carried in my memory some, even re- 
 mote, recollection of how Washington walked, and 
 looked, and smiled, and danced — for he was accus- 
 tomed, during his arduous struggle for the freedom of 
 his country, to relax from his weight of overwhelming 
 cares by often going down a sprightly country dance. 
 I am acquainted with a lady who was frequently his 
 partner, and whom I look upon with peculiar vener- 
 ation on that account, since, to have been in habits of 
 social intimacy with that man, is, in my mind, suf- 
 ficient to give dignity to his surviving cotemporaries. 
 Nay, I freely confess, I have sometimes found it in 
 my heart to envy even the worn-out, ragged, and 
 crippled soldier of the revolution, on witnessing the 
 honest pride with which he boasted of having fought 
 for the liberties of his country by the side of George 
 Washington. Having once in my life had an oppor- 
 tunity of visiting Mount Vernon, since the death of 
 him whose presence has consecrated every spot around 
 and given to the very trees and blades of grass a 
 nameless value, I paid particular respect to the old 
 German gardener, who bragged of having raised cauli- 
 flowers for the General ; and got out of the carriage 
 at the park gate on purpose to shake hands with the 
 gray-headed negro who opens it, because he told me 
 
A LEGEND OP THE BIRD'S NEST, 251 
 
 he remembered Master George when he was a little 
 boy. 
 
 Such being the nature of my feelings on this sub- 
 ject, I used to listen with silent interest to the rambling 
 traditions of this sibyl of the Highlands. Her family, 
 I ought to have mentioned, had been, for more than 
 half a century, the tenants of a gentleman who joined 
 the royal standard at the commencement of the 
 troubles, and forfeited his estate in consequence. 
 Though warmly attached to the cause of freedom, it 
 was natural for the good dame to lament, as she often 
 did, the worthy landlord, who had always been soci- 
 able at the house, and treated her and hers with those 
 little attentions which cost nothing to those above 
 yet are so gratifying to those beneath. She would 
 occasionally sneer at the upstart pride of those who 
 had succeeded him, and I remember her once patheti- 
 cally alluding to the period when the parson never be- 
 gan the service till the lord of the manor made his 
 appearance. In short, she still cherished in her heart, 
 unknown to herself, a latent spark of toryism; and 
 while she missed no opportunity of telling a story to 
 the credit of Washington, could never be brought to 
 use any other prayer-book than one given her by the 
 old landlord, which contained all the prayers for King 
 George and the royal family. 
 
 But for all this, Washington was her hero. She 
 had a picture of him hung up just below her best 
 looking-glass, and whenever she looked that way, it 
 reminded her of something the General said or did, 
 or some event of those doleful times when the foot of 
 an enemy pressed almost every threshold in the land. 
 She would look at the picture with the affection of a 
 
252 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 mother, and exclaim: — "Ah! he was a good man. 
 I remember he used to come over sometimes, nay, 
 very often, to talk over matters with General Putnam, 
 who had his quarters here. K ever man loved his 
 country, it was General Washington. I could tell, but 
 I am old, and lose my memory every day — I could 
 tell of his perplexities, his watchings, cares, and suf- 
 ferings of mind and body, which I believe he never 
 let any one see but myself; and I shall never forget 
 his kindness when I lost my youngest son. My boy 
 was quite a hero among the young men of the hUls, 
 and night after night used to go out with parties of 
 militia, beating up the plundering Tagers that came 
 from below and carried away every thing they could 
 find, to the ruin of many of our poor people, who 
 stayed between the lines because they were old, and 
 knew not where else to go. 
 
 " One night — it was the twentieth of January — 
 I can recollect that — in the dead of night, my son 
 and his little troop were surprised in turn by a party 
 from below, whUe warming themselves in a house, 
 which the enemy surrounded in black silence and then 
 set on fire. In attempting to escape they were all 
 butchered by the Yagers, who hacked them down, 
 though they begged for quarter. The next day, while 
 I was out at a neighbor's house, my son's body was 
 brought home by some people who knew him ; and 
 when I returned, there I saw it, with the blood frozen 
 in the gashes with which he was covered. 
 
 " I don't remember what became of me till I found 
 myself sitting in our old arm-chair, and the General 
 standing just by, with his hat in one hand and the 
 other resting on the back of the chair. ' Mother,' said 
 
A LEGEND OP THE BIED's NEST. 253 
 
 he, when he saw I was come to myself — ' Mother' — 
 and the word made me so proud I almost forgot what 
 had happened — 'Mother — you have given a son to 
 your country — a brave man to his God. Go now to 
 your room, I will see every thing done.' I went, for 
 no one could say nay to him when he soothed or com- 
 manded, and they buried my boy like a soldier. The 
 troops fired, while the General himself stood over the 
 grave, and the pride of a mother almost overcame her 
 affection. Time, hardships, and more sorrows that 
 succeeded each other for years afterward, drove away 
 the bitterness of this bereavement ; although when the 
 floor was washed, or the sun shone bright upon it, we 
 could see the stain of blood where the body had lain. 
 I can talk of these things now, for when I think of 
 the death of my son, I remember also that he died 
 in the service of his country, and his country's father 
 followed him to his grave." 
 
 In the republication of " Letters from the South " 
 in the summer of 1835, he has expressed the feelings 
 aroused by a visit to the original burial-vault at Mount 
 Vernon. 
 
 THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. 
 
 You have had so many descriptions of this illustri- 
 ous spot, that I shall confine myself to a detail of my 
 impressions on contemplating the simple tomb where 
 repose the remains of a man who has left behind him 
 a fame more enviable than that of any mere mortal 
 that ever breathed the breath of life. K it were mine, 
 I would not exchange it for aU the vainglories of all 
 the conquerors and destroyers of mankind, from Ses- 
 ostris down to Napoleon. 
 
254 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 The tomb is situated on the summit of the high 
 bank of the Potomac, and commands a view of the 
 fine expansion of the river below. It partakes of the 
 sobriety of Washington's character. A pathway, 
 walled on either side, leads you to a plain door of 
 wood imbedded in brick-work, over which, in the rear, 
 rises a hillock covered with trees. This is all. At 
 first my impressions were those of disappointment, at 
 the absence of art and decoration. But a better feel- 
 ing came over me, and soon I felt the inspiration of 
 this touching simplicity stealing into my inmost soul. 
 I forgot every thing before me, and remembered only 
 the man. There was no majestic work, impudently 
 obtruding itself, to draw off my attention toward the 
 triumph of art and set me to criticising the taste 
 and genius of the artist ; there was nothing, in short, 
 to impair the single idea of Washington. His life 
 and actions passed swiftly in review before me, as 
 I sat with my eyes riveted on the door that inclosed 
 his sacred dust; and that pure, unmixed, complete 
 character, " without fear and without reproach," 
 gradually embodied itself in my fancy. The silence 
 and repose of the scene was profound, except that 
 now and then the little birds, that had made their 
 nests in the clump of trees which overshadowed the 
 tomb, chirped over my head. It was a calm, sultry, 
 autumnal morning; the leaves were unruffled by a 
 single breath of air, and the wide expanse of the river 
 below was all one glassy mirror, burnished by the rays 
 of as bright a sun as ever shone in the heavens. 
 
 Could the proudest creations of art add interest or 
 dignity to such a scene ? I felt they could not ; that 
 it was out of the power of man to embellish what 
 
THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. 255 
 
 nature had made so perfect, or to ennoble the moral 
 excellence of him whose glory I was contemplating. 
 He stands by himself, occupying a position which few 
 will ever approach ; his glory is without spot or stain ; 
 his whole life one uninterrupted virtue. In the midst 
 of the most harassing vicissitudes, with the des- 
 tinies of this New World on his shoulders — in the 
 depths of almost hopeless adversity, when the fate of 
 his country hung, day after day, year after year, sus- 
 pended by a single hair — he was a hero. When, 
 having won for his country the prize for which he had 
 so long contended, it was in his power to appropriate 
 it to his own purposes, he was a patriot. And when 
 placed, by the united voice of the civilized world, on 
 the pinnacle of human glory, he was a sage. His 
 head neither turned, nor did his heart become corrupt. 
 He sailed along, like the eagle, easily and gracefuUy, 
 in the highest heaven — majestic, without effort or 
 affectation ; and while the eyes of mankind were upon 
 him, never for a moment forgot he was but a man. 
 
 Such a being, thought I, wants no monument. 
 While his name is in the mouths of devoted millions ; 
 while his virtues are embodied in every page of the 
 history of his country; and while his glory accom- 
 panies the rising sun through his daily course from 
 east to west — to what purpose pile masses of marble 
 upon his bones ? He who had no parallel in his life, 
 should have none after death. Others have become 
 illustrious by their tombs ; let it be his distinction to 
 owe no part of his glory to marble, architects, or stat- 
 uaries. The truly great may be safely left to history, 
 poetry, and tradition. Let him, then, enjoy the privi- 
 lege of sleeping undisturbed in the midst of his kin- 
 
256 LITERAEY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 dred ashes. There let him rest in peace, embalmed 
 in imperishable glory, till the trumpet shall sound, and 
 the dead of thousands of years arise to judgment. 
 
 But, as for monuments, there is a better evidence 
 of our veneration for him. It lies in preserving the 
 liberties he bequeathed us, and, as far as possible, 
 sailing in the bright wake he has left behind him. 
 
 Finally, in this " Life," published late in 1835 or 
 early in 1836, and written, as the Preface declares, for 
 the youth of the country, Mr. Paulding gives his 
 matured views. We have Washington in the time 
 of darkness and doubt: — 
 
 " The picture presented to my imagination is that 
 of a lofty and expanded mind, struggling with diffi- 
 culties, not for an hour or a day, but through a series 
 of years, each one increasing the weight of his anxie- 
 ties, and investing him with still more insuperable 
 difficulties. He was indeed a man of many cares, 
 perplexities, disappointments, and sufferings; and 
 nothing could have supported him in these endless 
 trials of his patience and his fortitude, his body and 
 his mind, but that consciousness of duty which is 
 founded on the rock of ages, animated and inspired 
 by a patriotism which nothing could shake or under- 
 mine. With him the animating principle was neither 
 the love of glory nor the ambition of power. His 
 station for a long while offered him no hope of the 
 one, no present possession, and scarcely any anticipa- 
 tion, of the other. Many is the time, no doubt, that, 
 instead of glory, he looked forward to exUe, or an 
 ignominious death ; and instead of the wreath of vic- 
 tory, anticipated a crown of thorns. The conquerors 
 
A LIFE OF WASHINGTON. 257 
 
 of kingdoms and the desolators of the world fade into 
 utter insignificance when brought face to face with 
 the man of our pride, our affections, and our rever- 
 ence ; and far greater, as well as far more an object 
 of admiration and love does he appear, to my mind, 
 in the midst of disaster and defeat, than did Csssar 
 when making his triumphal entry into the capital of 
 the world, laden with the spoils and followed by the 
 captives of a hundred nations of barbarians." 
 
 And here is the hour of Washington's triumph. 
 
 " At the dead of the night, a watchman in the 
 streets of Philadelphia was heard to cry out, ' Past 
 twelve o'clock, and a pleasant morning — CornwaUis 
 is taken.' All but the dead resting in their last sleep 
 awoke at this glorious annunciation. The city be- 
 came alive at midnight; the candles were lighted, and 
 figures might be seen flitting past the windows, or 
 pushing them up, to hear the sound repeated, lest it 
 should have been nothing but a dream. The citizens 
 ran through the streets to inquire into the truth ; they 
 shook hands, they embraced each other, and they 
 wept for very gladness. None slept again that night, 
 and the dawn of the morning, which brought new 
 confirmation of the happy tidings, shone on one of 
 the most exulting cities that ever basked in the sun- 
 shine of joy. 
 
 " The news ran like fire on the prairies along every 
 road, and through every by-place of the land. It 
 seemed to fly on the wings of the wind, or to be 
 borne by some invisible messenger. No one could 
 tell from whence it came, but it came invested with 
 a charm that rendered confirmation unnecessary. 
 Everybody believed it, for all, even in the darkest 
 
 17 
 
258 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 days of the Revolution, had cherished a hope, which 
 carried with it almost the force of inspiration, that 
 Washington would, beyond all doubt, one day give 
 liberty to his country. That hour was now come, 
 and the souls of the people expanded with unut- 
 terable joy. For years they had stared misery in the 
 face, and suffered in its iron grasp. They had reaped 
 many harvests of bitterness, and they now expected 
 to reap those of peace and plenty. They had passed 
 through the dark vaUey of the shadow of death, and 
 were now about to emerge into the regions of light. 
 There was but one single and united voice through- 
 out the whole land, and that shouted the name of 
 Washington, Deliverer of his Country." 
 
 I close with the last pages of the work. 
 
 " In analyzing the character of Washington, there 
 is nothing that strikes me as more admirable than its 
 symmetry. In this respect it is consummate. His 
 qualities were so nicely balanced, so rarely associated, 
 of such harmonious affinities, that no one seemed to 
 interfere with another, or predominate over the whole. 
 The natural ardor of his disposition was steadily 
 restrained by a power of self-command which it 
 dared not disobey. His caution never degenerated 
 into timidity, nor his courage into imprudence or 
 temerity. His memory was accompanied by a sound, 
 unerring judgment, which turned its acquisitions to 
 the best advantage; his industry and economy of 
 time did not render him dull or unsocial ; his dignity 
 never was vitiated by pride or harshness, and his un- 
 conquerable firmness was free from obstinacy or self- 
 willed arrogance. He was gigantic, but at the same 
 time he was well-proportioned and beautiful. It was 
 
CHARACTER OP WASHINGTON. 259 
 
 this symmetry of parts that diminished the apparent 
 magnitude of the whole ; as in those fine specimens 
 of Grecian architecture, where the size of the temple 
 seems lessened by its perfection. There are plenty of 
 men who become distinguished by the predominance 
 of one single faculty, or the exercise of a solitary vir- 
 tue ; but few, very few, present to our contemplation 
 such a combination of virtues unalloyed by a single 
 vice; such a succession of actions, both public and 
 private, in which even his enemies can find nothing 
 to blame. 
 
 Assuredly he stands almost alone in the world. He 
 occupies a region where there are, unhappily for man- 
 kind, but few inhabitants. The Grecian biographer 
 could easily find parallels for Alexander and Caesar, 
 but were he living now, he would meet with great dif- 
 ficulty in selecting one for Washington. There seems 
 to be a height of moral excellence, which, though 
 possible to attain to, few ever approach. As in as- 
 cending the lofty peaks of the Andes, we at length 
 arrive at a line where vegetation ceases, and the prin- 
 ciple of life seems extinct; so in the gradations of 
 human character, there is an elevatioii which is never 
 attained by mortal man. A few have approached it, 
 and none nearer than "Washington. 
 
 He is eminently conspicuous as one of the great 
 benefactors of the human race, for he not only gave 
 liberty to millions, but his name now stands, and will 
 for ever stand, a noble example to high and low. He 
 is a great work of the aJmighty Artist, which none 
 can study without receiving purer ideas and more 
 lofty conceptions of the grace and beauty of the 
 human character. He is one that all may copy at 
 
260 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 different distances, and whom none can contemplate 
 without receiving lasting and salutary impressions of 
 the sterling value, the inexpressible beauty, of piety, 
 integrity, courage, and patriotism, associated with a 
 clear, vigorous, and well-poised intellect. 
 
 Pure, and widely disseminated as is the fame of 
 this great and good man, it is yet in its infancy. It 
 is every day taking deeper root in the hearts of his 
 countrymen and the estimation of strangers, and 
 spreading its branches wider and wider to the air and 
 the skies. He is already become the saint of liberty, 
 which has gathered new honours by being associated 
 with his name ; and when men aspire to free nations, 
 they must take him for their model. It is, then, not 
 without ample reason that the suf&ages of mankind 
 have combined to place Washington at the head of 
 his race. If we estimate him by the examples re- 
 corded in history, he stands without a parallel in the 
 virtues he exhibited, and the vast, unprecedented con- 
 sequences resulting from their exercise. The whole 
 world was the theatre of his actions, and all mankind 
 are destined to partake sooner or later in their results. 
 He is a hero of a new species: he had no model; 
 will he have any imitators ? Time, which bears the 
 thousands and thousands of common cut-throats to 
 the ocean of oblivion, only adds new lustre to his 
 fame, new force to his example, and new strength to 
 the reverential affection of all good men. What a 
 glorious fame is his, to be acquired without guilt, and 
 enjoyed without envy ; to ,be cherished by millions 
 living, hundreds of millions yet unborn! Let the 
 children of my country prove themselves worthy of 
 his virtues, his labours, and his sacrifices, by reveren- 
 
CHAJIACTER OP WASHINGTON. 261 
 
 cing his name, and imitating his piety, integrity, in- 
 dustry, fortitude, patience, forbearance, and patriotism. 
 So shall they become fitted to enjoy the blessings of 
 freedom and the bounties of heaven." 
 
xvn. 
 
 1836-1838. [Mt. 68-60.] 
 
 SLA. VERY IN THE DUITED STATES — OF NEWSPAPEES — THE BOOK OP ST. 
 mCIlOLAS — THE WOOING OF — THE DEATH OF — LETTERS TO KEMBLE. 
 
 In 1836 Mr. Paulding published, with the imprint 
 of Harper and Brothers, a small volume entitled 
 SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES. The animus of 
 the book may be considered as given in a single sen- 
 tence of the Introduction. " It will be perceived, in 
 the course of the following discussion, that the writer 
 does not consider slavery, as it exists in the United 
 States, an evil of such surpassing enormity as to 
 demand the sacrifice of the harmony and consequent 
 union of the states, followed by civil contention and 
 servile war, to its removal." 
 
 This work it were idle now to dwell upon. Events 
 have superseded opinions ; and we have all cause to 
 be thankful that a terrible question has, partially at 
 least, disposed of itself. 
 
 I find in a letter to Irving, in this year, an explana- 
 tion of our author's habit of writing for the newspa^ 
 pers, which is worthy of every man's consideration. 
 
 Since however it appears inevitable that the newspapers 
 are to give the tone to public opinion, it would seem desirable 
 that they should be influenced if possible by those who will 
 give them a proper direction. If men of good principles keep 
 aloof from all participation in newspapers, they will naturally 
 [262] 
 
THE BOOK OP SAINT NICHOLAS. 268 
 
 fell into the hands of interested, factious, and unprincipled 
 demagogues, and become sheer instruments of mischief. In 
 no other country has the daily press such a wide influence, 
 and I don't know what will become of us if that influence is 
 directed by men without talent or principles. 
 
 At the close of the year 1836, or some time in 1837, 
 appeared THE BOOK OF SAINT NICHOLAS, "trans- 
 lated from the original Dutch of Dominie Nicholas 
 Aegidius Oudenarde." The title page bears the date 
 1836. The copyright was taken out on the 25th 
 of February, 1837. The " Dedication " " To the So- 
 cieties of Saint Nicholas in The New Netherlands, 
 commonly called New York ", is dated " Nieuw- Am- 
 sterdam, July, 1827" — no doubt a misprint. It is 
 not improbable that the volume was prepared for the 
 holidays of 1836, delayed, held back, and issued for 
 those of 1837. It is the impression of the Messrs. 
 Harper, the publishers, that it was chiefly made up 
 of stories previously printed in a fugitive shape. 
 
 As its title implies, this book deals, for the most 
 part, with legends of the patron Saint of New York. 
 Premising that he is represented as having been 
 apprenticed to a baker, I quote from the first paper 
 this account of .his wooing : — 
 
 " Little Nicholas, our hero, was a merry, sweet- 
 tempered caitiff, which was, doubtless, somewhat 
 owing to his living almost altogether upon sweet 
 things. He was marvellously devoted to cakes, and 
 ate up numberless gingerbread alphabets before he 
 knew a single letter. 
 
 « Passing over the intermediate years, of which, 
 indeed, I know no more than the man in the moon, 
 I come to the period when, being twenty-four, and 
 
264 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAtJLDING. 
 
 the term of his apprenticeship almost out, he fell des- 
 perately in love with the daughter of his worthy mas- 
 ter, who was a burgomaster of forty years standing. 
 In those unprecocious times, the boys did not grow to 
 be men and the girls women, so soon as they do now. 
 It would have been considered highly indecent for the 
 former to think of falling in love before they were out 
 of their time, or the latter to set up for young women 
 before they knew how to be any thing else. But as 
 soon as the worthy Nicholas arrived at the age of 
 twenty-four, being, as I said, within a year of the 
 expiration of his time, he thought to himself that 
 Katrinchee, or Catharine as the EngKsh call it, was 
 a clever, notable little soul, and eminently calculated 
 to make him a good wife. This was the main point 
 in the times of which I am speaking, when people 
 actually married without first running rriad either for 
 love or money. 
 
 " Katrinchee was the toast of all the young bakers 
 of Amsterdam, and honest Nicholas had as many 
 rivals as there were loaves of bread in that renowned 
 city. But he was as gallant a little Dutchman as ever 
 smoked his way through the world pipe foremost, and 
 did not despair of getting the better of his rivals, es- 
 pecially as he was a great favourite with the burgo- 
 master, as, indeed, his conduct merited. Instead of 
 going the vulgar way to work, and sighing and 
 whining out romance in her ear, he cunningly, being 
 doubtless inspired by Cupid himself, proceeded to 
 insinuate his passion, and make it known by degrees 
 to the pretty Katrinchee, who was as plump as a par- 
 tridge, and had eyes of the colour of a clear sky. 
 
 " First did he bake a cake in the shape of a heart 
 
THE BOOK OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 265 
 
 pierced half through by a toasting fork, and presented 
 it to her, smoking hot ; the which she received with a 
 blush and did eat, to his great encouragement. A 
 month after, for he did not wish to alarm her delicacy, 
 he did bake another cake in the shape of two hearts 
 entwined prettily with a true lover's knot. This too 
 she received with a blush, and did eat with marvellous 
 content. After the expiration of a like perio'd, he did 
 contrive another cake in the shape of a letter, on 
 which he had ingeniously engraven the following 
 couplet : — 
 
 ' Wer diesen glauben wiihlt hat die vernanft verschworen, 
 Dem denken abgesaght sein eigentham verlohren.' 
 
 If the reader comprehendeth not the meaning of this, 
 I do hereby earnestly advise him to set about studying 
 the Dutch language forthwith, that he may properly 
 appreciate its hidden beauties. 
 
 " Little Katrinchee read this poesy with a sigh, and 
 rewarded the good Nicholas with a look which, as he 
 afterward affirmed, would have heated an oven. 
 
 " Thus did the sly youth gradually advance himself 
 in the good graces of the damsel, until at length he 
 ventured a downright declaration, in the shape of a 
 cake made in the exact likeness of a little Dutch 
 Cupid. The acceptance of this was conclusive, and 
 was followed by permission to address the matter to 
 the decision of the worthy burgomaster, whose name 
 I regret hath not come down to the present time. 
 
 " The good man consulted his pipe, and after six 
 months' hard smoking, came to the conclusion that 
 the thing was feasible. Nicholas was a well-behaved, 
 industrious lad, and the burgomaster justly decided 
 that the possession of virtuous and industrious habits 
 
266 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 without houses and lands, was better than houses and 
 lands without thena. So he gave his consent, like an 
 honest and ever-to-be-respected magistrate. 
 
 " The news of the intended marriage spoiled all the 
 loaves baked in the city that day. The young bakers 
 were so put out that they forgot to put yeast in their 
 bread, and it was all heavy. But the hearts of the 
 worthy Nicholas and his bride were as light as a 
 feather notwithstanding, and when they were married 
 it was truly said there was not a handsomer couple 
 in all Amsterdam. 
 
 " They lived together happily many years, and 
 nothing was wanting to their felicity but a family of 
 chubby boys and girls. But it was ordained that he 
 never should be blessed with any offspring, seeing that 
 he was predestined to be the patron and benefactor of 
 the children of others, not of his own. In good time, 
 and in the fullness of years, the burgomaster died, leav- 
 ing his fortune and his business to Nicholas, who had 
 ever been a kind husband to his daughter, and a duti- 
 ful son to himself. Rich and liberal, it was one of the 
 chief pleasures of the good Nicholas to distribute his 
 cakes, of which he baked the best in all Amsterdam, 
 to the children of the neighourhood, who came every 
 morning, and sometimes in the evening ; and Nicho- 
 las felt his heart warm within his bosom when he saw 
 how they ate and laughed, and were as happy as, ay, 
 and happier than, so many little kings. The children 
 aU loved him, as did their fathers and mothers, so that 
 in process of time he was made a burgomaster, like 
 his father-in-law before him." 
 
 There is a simple pathos in the description of the 
 Saint's death, and its effect on his fellow-citizens. 
 
THE BOOK OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 267 
 
 " The illustrious visitor staid all night ; and the 
 next morning, as he was about to depart, the aged 
 Nicholas said to him, 
 
 ' Farewell — I shall never see thee again. Thou 
 art going *a long journey, thou sayest, but I am about 
 venturing on one yet longer.' 
 
 ' Well, be it so,' said the other. ' But those who 
 remain behind will bless thy name and thy memory. 
 The little children will love thee, and so long as thy 
 countrymen cherish their ancient customs thou wilt 
 not be forgotten.' 
 
 " They parted, and the prediction of the good Nicho- 
 las was fulfilled. He fell asleep in the arms of Death, 
 who called him so softly, and received him so gently 
 in his embrace, that though his family knew he slept 
 they little thought it was forever. 
 
 " When this news went abroad into the city, you 
 might see the worthy burgomasters and citizens knock- 
 ing the ashes out of their pipes, and putting them 
 quietly by in their button-holes ; and the good house- 
 wives ever and anon lifting their clean white aprons 
 to their eyes, that they might see to thread their 
 needles, or find the stitches as they sat knitting their 
 stockings. The shops and schools were all shut, the 
 day he was buried ; and it was remarked that the men 
 neglected their usual amusements, and the children 
 had no heart to play." 
 
 There are several of the little stories in this collec- 
 tion that are sprightly and spirited. But I am obliged 
 to pass them by. 
 
 In 1837 we come upon a correspondence between 
 James K. Paulding and his friend and brother-in-law, 
 Gouverneur Kemble, then a member of the House of 
 
268 LITERABT LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Representatives. The first preserved, dated New York, 
 14th Sept, 1837, ends in this characteristic style : — 
 
 Gertrude and the boys are with Mrs. Philipse, [widow of 
 " the chieftain ", and now residing at Tarrytown Westchester 
 County, on the Tappaan Zee], whose situation the more I see 
 the more I admire. The other moonlight night, I walked the 
 piazza with a segar, and as I looked out on the glorious bay 
 glittering in the moonbeams, its shores fretted with dark woody 
 points projecting into the waters, impressions such as I had 
 thought buried forever under the rubbish of years awoke in 
 my heart, and I felt young again. I am going up this after- 
 noon. We are invited to a Tableau Vivant I think they call 
 it, this evening at Mr. C.'s, where I shall figure in a satin 
 embroidered jacket that I flatter myself will put Master 
 Wash's nose out of joint. The fellow has a seraglio of dow- 
 agers about him, whose flattery would turn the head of any 
 man not hardened into indifference by the frequent repetition 
 of the dose. 
 
 Adieu. Write often and believe me 
 
 Yours always 
 
 J. K. Paulding. 
 
 He writes again, New York, 2d February, 1838: — 
 My dear Gouv, 
 
 I sympathize with you in the anticipated necessity of 
 making a speech. It is a thing of habit exclusively, and the 
 great obstacle to success is too great a flow of ideas, without 
 a sufiiciency of words to express them. Now a man can do 
 without ideas in Congress, but a want of words is the dense 
 and all. 
 
 Here is an allusion to literary matters in his usual 
 tone of philosophy, under date of New York, 3d 
 March, 1838. 
 
 You must excuse my bad writing. An accident many 
 years ago to the little finger of my right hand is becoming 
 
LETTER TO KEMBLE. 269 
 
 more and more perceptible, and the finger becomes inactive 
 after writing a few lines. I regret this exceedingly, as it 
 destroys all the pleasure of writing. Perhaps it is all for the 
 best, and may be the means — under Providence, as the pious 
 ones say — of saving me from the common fate of authors, 
 namely, that of trifling away in old age all the earnings of 
 youth. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 1838-1840. [^T. 60-62.] 
 
 8ECRETAKY OF THE HAVY LETTERS, TO KEMBLE, IRVIHG, AND EEEVOORT 
 
 A GIFT FROM FAIRY I/AND — LETTER FROM GREENOUGH*THE SCULP- 
 TOR — THE MAINE BOUNDARY — JOHN FORSYTH, OF GEORGIA — STEAM 
 — HEMP — TRAVEL — POLITICS — PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 In May of the year 1838 Mr. Paulding was offered 
 the position of Secretary of the Navy in the Cabinet 
 of Mr. Van Buren; which, after some hesitation, he 
 accepted. There are a number of references to this in 
 his letters to Gouverneui Kemble. For example : — 
 
 New York. 11th May, 1838. 
 I doubt my capacity for the situation ; but I have found in 
 every new station I have occupied, the diflSculties vanish be- 
 fore me, and a man knows not what he can do till he tries. 
 
 New York. 16th May, 1838. 
 I received your letter inclosing that from the President, which 
 could not but be gratifying to my feelings. I yesterday 
 accepted the offer, and await the result with Christian resig- 
 nation. 
 
 New York. 17th May, 1838. 
 In thinking, as I do almost all day long, on the step I have 
 taken, I am extremely doubtful whether I have not done a 
 foolish thing. But of the results of acts done with honest and 
 honorable motives no man should be afraid, and so I have 
 made up my mind to meet all the consequences to be antici- 
 pated by one who has more than fulfilled the wishes of his 
 enemies, by writing twenty books instead of one. 
 
 Mr. Paulding's commission bears date June 25th, 
 [270] 
 
LETTERS. 271 
 
 1838, and I presume he entered at once on his duties. 
 Previous to this, viz., on the 15th June, 1838, he wrote 
 to Kemble from New York, blowing out, as I suppose, 
 against Osceola, the Seminole chief. 
 
 How is Poinsett [Secretary of War] getting along ? I 
 hope he is quite recovered, and that he -will be soon rid of 
 the Indian heroes. I say heroes, for it seems only necessary 
 for a bloody Indian to break his faith ; plunder and burn a 
 district or two ; massacre a few hundred soldiers ; and scalp 
 a good number of women and children; to gain immortal 
 honour. He will be glorified in Congress ; canonized by phi- 
 lanthropists ; autographed, and lithographed, and biographied, 
 by authors, artists, and periodicals ; the petticoated petitioners 
 to Congress will weep, not over the fate of the poor white 
 victims, but that of the treacherous and bloody murderer, who 
 will receive his apotheosis in the universal sympathy of all the 
 humble echoes and hypocritical followers of that prince of 
 hypocrites old Johnny Bull. There, I feel a little cooler 
 after this explosion. 
 
 Mr. Paulding of course soon found that he had not 
 removed into a bed of roses. He writes to Irving 
 from Washington, 30th July, 1838, specifying sundry 
 annoyances, and goes on thus : — 
 
 My young midshipmen and lieutenants too, are extremely 
 bilious at this season of the year, and when I order them in 
 service answer me by a request for permission to accompany 
 mamma to the White Sulphur Springs for their health. I am 
 as you know a pretty obstinate fellow, and have already begun 
 to let them know that these things wiU no longer be per- 
 mitted. . . . And I am in hopes by degrees to realize some 
 of the expectations which the nation so liberally anticipates 
 from me, God knows why. ... On the whole however I 
 don't regret the step I have taken, and though my labors are 
 
272 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 ieavy, it surprises me to find the mornings pass away so 
 swiftly. I cannot sufficiently regret that the death of Dusky 
 Davy Longworth prevents me from testifying my grateful 
 recollection of his excellent hot cakes the which he dispensed 
 so liberally in his little backroom, by making him a chaplain 
 in the Navy. But he has slipped through my fingers, and I 
 must endeavor to quiet my conscience by doing something for 
 that most amiable rascal, his son Tom. 
 
 The letter concludes with an allusion to Irving's 
 improvements near Tarrytown. 
 
 Farewell my dear Washington. May your trees grow like 
 unto Jack's beanstalk, and the blessing due to him who causes 
 two blades of grass to grow where only one grew before, light 
 on your head. 
 
 i)ecT. 24th, 1838, he offers various inducements to his 
 friend to pay him a visit at the seat of government, 
 and ends : — 
 
 So pray bestir yourself and come, if it be only to see a gen- 
 tleman of leisure metamorphosed into a pack-horse. 
 
 At the close of the year 1838 Mr. Paulding pub- 
 lished anonymously, in one volume, through D. Apple- 
 ton & Co, a charming book of Fairy Tales, illustrated 
 on steel by J. G. Chapman, and entitled A GIPT FROM 
 FAIRY LAND. 
 
 The arrangement of the letter press and the plates 
 for printing was peculiar, and the absence of the artist 
 from this country renders it well-nigh impossible to 
 re-issue it. To do so without the engravings would 
 be a pity, so admirably have the illustrations rendered 
 the spirit of the stories. 
 
 The book was not so successful as one would have 
 expected. It found however at least one appreciative 
 reader, in the sculptor Greenough, then at Florence, 
 
A GIFT FROM FAIRY LAND. 273 
 
 at work on his statue of Washington. Mr. Paulding 
 was in correspondence with him about these years 
 upon this very subject of the statue, and, then and 
 thereafter, attended to his interests in that respect 
 at Washington, in a spirit worthy of the artist and 
 the country. Writing to our author from Florence, 
 Deer, 14th, 1839, Greenough incidentally remarks : — 
 
 " I recognized your pen at once in the gift from fairyland, 
 which was truly a treat to us all — my wife was delighted 
 with the novelty you have given to that form of invention. 
 This is what we want — not a starveling and puritanical ab- 
 stinence from works of fancy and taste, b,ut an adaptation of 
 these to our institutions, and a harmonizing of them with our 
 morals or what we mean to be such." 
 
 Sound and judicious doctrine, this ; worth ponder- 
 ing, one may say. 
 
 To his early friend Brevoort, Mr. Paulding writes, 
 January 20th, 1839 : — 
 
 I was comforted with your approbation of my course here. 
 I believe I have done some good already, and if Congress and 
 the newspapers don't prevent me, may do some more. In the 
 meantime, I endeavor to do right, and calmly meet the conse- 
 quences. 
 
 And elsewhere in this letter : — 
 
 You won't believe it, but I am the greatest slave in Wash- 
 ington, except my master the President. 
 
 And of certain grand dinners given by himself; and 
 especially one : — 
 
 It was. voted a great thing, but a few more such victories 
 and Pyrrhus is undone. The fight lasted four hours. 
 
 May 16, 1839, he writes again to the same. 
 18 
 
274 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 On the whole however, I don't regret coming here. If I out- 
 live my term of service, and come out with credit, it will be a 
 good stopping place for an old man, and I will sit down quietly 
 for the short remainder of my life. If my friends would encour- 
 age me on, it would serve to strengthen my resolution, and sup- 
 port my spirits. I must necessarily make many enemies, and 
 these can always find plenty of party newspapers in which to 
 vent their spleen. Approbation is not half so active as abuse, 
 and enemies are always more industrious than friends. Still 
 I am content. There is a diabolical satisfaction in the exer- 
 cise of power, and the head of the Navy is the most absolute 
 of all despots. 
 
 Remember me affectionately to Mrs. Brevoort, and espe- 
 cially to the old ante-diluvians of the Bowery, and believe me 
 my dear Brevoort, Yours always, 
 
 J. K. Paulding. 
 
 Of course, during his continuance in the office of 
 Secretary of the Navy, Mr. Paulding was overburdened 
 with serious work, and had no time for literature. But 
 his correspondence with Irving and Kemble during 
 these three years is quite full, with some amusing com- 
 ments on matters in Washington. As these things 
 however do not fall within the scope of my design, I 
 compress the important concerns of his Secretaryship 
 into as brief compass as I conveniently can. 
 
 Mr. Paulding's first, and continued, effort during his 
 official term, was for the restoration in the Navy of a 
 proper subordination, which circumstances had sadly 
 impaired. To Kemble he writes, April 10, 1839 : — 
 
 As to myself, my great object is to restore the discipline 
 of the Navy. 
 
 March 25th, 1839, to the same. 
 
 The President stands by me manfully, and please God, if I 
 
LETTERS. 275 
 
 live, and Congress does not counteract me, I will make both 
 high and low young and old know who is their master, before 
 I have done with them. 
 
 October 20th, 1840, to the same. 
 
 If I go out of office next Spring, it will be with the reputation 
 of a tyrant, but should I remain four years longer, the benefit 
 of my course will be seen and felt. I am prepared for either, 
 and I may truly say indifferent to both, for the labours of four 
 more years, such as I have lately passed, will hardly be repaid 
 by their fruits. 
 
 The honor of his country was dear to Mr. Pauld- 
 ing's heart, and though earnestly desirous of peace 
 during the Maine Boundary difficulties of the year 
 1839, it annoyed him excessively to note the delay of 
 Congress to provide the means for taking due precau- 
 tion in the business. He writes Brevoort, May 16th 
 of this year. 
 
 Let war come when it will, suddenly, or by gradual ap- 
 proaches which any wise man can see, I predict it will find 
 us unprepared, not from any fault of ours, but of Congress. 
 
 Mr. Forsyth was then Secretary of State, and Mr. 
 Fox the British minister — both able men. The diplo- 
 matic contest was of course carried on by them ; while, 
 as regards General Scott, who wa? aent to the frontier, 
 my father often bore testimony to the judicious man- 
 agement of his part of the affair. Mr. Fox, (Mr. Pauld- 
 ing used often afterward to say), from his habits 
 of life, kept us always on the defensive. He turned 
 night into day, and had a paper ready at daylight 
 every morning. I myself, returning from Georgetown 
 College at dusk, have more than once seen him just 
 emerging from his house for his morning stroll. 
 
276 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Mr. Paulding was fond of sketching the characters 
 of those with whom he came much in contact, and, in 
 a commonplace book of much later date than this 
 period, I find the following outline of 
 
 JOHN FORSYTH, OF GEORGIA. 
 
 This gentleman and myself were in long habits of 
 intimacy, and for some years associated in public life. 
 He had genius, and talents of the highest order, and 
 was probably the readiest debater that ever sat in 
 either house of Congress. His voice was extremely 
 musical, and he had a readiness and fluency of speech 
 accompanied by graceful action that rendered him one 
 of the most pleasing speakers of his age. His mind 
 was quick of comprehension ; so quick that I believe 
 he depended on it entirely : and seldom, if ever, did he 
 study any subject thoroughly. He was naturally in- 
 dolent, fond of society, especially that of women, and 
 had no inconsiderable taste in the fine arts. When 
 in Congress, it was a long time before he gave him- 
 self the trouble to make a set speech, and it was prin- 
 cipally owing to the influence of a friend of mine, who 
 belonged to the same mess and was aware of his 
 capacity, that he finally overcame his vis inertia. 
 When he did so he delighted everybody. When Sec- 
 retary of State, I had sufiicient opportunities to scan 
 him more closely. He was not one of the mischiev- ' 
 ous busyhodies who think they must always be doing 
 something, and oftentimes get into mischief by med- 
 dling with every thing. He would be amusing himself 
 while the little pettifogging politicians were fidgetting 
 and whispering about nothing ; but on all great occa- 
 sions when the honor or interests of the country were 
 
SECRETARY OF THE NAVT. 277 
 
 concerned, he acted with a spirit, decision, and energy, 
 becoming a great statesman and patriot. He always 
 maintained his right of precedence over Senators, 
 Judges of the Supreme Court, and foreign Ministers, 
 and never permitted them to go before him at dinner 
 or any formal occasion. In all other respects he was 
 one of the most courteous of men, and his manners 
 were eminently easy, graceful, and conciliating. I 
 preserved an uninterrupted friendship with him to the 
 day of his death, and there are few men whose mem- 
 ory is accompanied by more agreeable recollections. 
 
 Mr. Paulding was not given to novelties. When 
 Secretary of the Navy Board, the bursting of a patent 
 carbine nearly put an end to him. Perhaps from this 
 circumstance he imbibed a prejudice against aU experi- 
 mental weapons for the rest of his days. He rather 
 shook his head at 681b. Paixhan guns, as being too 
 cumbersome for easy handling on board ship. Nor was 
 he inclined to go headlong into a steam marine, though 
 he was not unwilling to " humor " the thing a little. 
 
 The " Fulton ", indeed, had been built before his 
 time. But she was rather a floating battery for har- 
 bor defence, than a sea-going steamer. She was an 
 immense and powerful mass, her momentum when 
 once in motion so great that it was no easy matter 
 to stop her. It was now proposed to build some- 
 thing to vie with the English and French war-steamers. 
 His letters to Gouverneur Kemble often allude to this. 
 He writes, June 16th, 1839. 
 
 If I had time, I would endeavour to place the subject be- 
 fore the public on hoth sides, with a view of allaying the steam 
 fever now raging among us. But such fevers, like all others, 
 
278 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 must pass through their various stages, and the people of the 
 United States must have some mania to excite thera, whether 
 it be a merino, a moras mvlticaulis, a canal, a railroad, or a 
 steam mania. . . . We must yield the palm to the majority 
 in this as in other things ; for, whatever may be his opinions, 
 the man who opposes the world is a fool for his pains. I am 
 willing therefore to go with the wind, though I don't mean to 
 carry full sail, and keep the steam enthusiasts quiet by warily 
 administering to the humour of the times ; but I will never 
 consent to let our old ships perish, and transform our Navy 
 into a fleet of sea monsters. 
 
 June 8th, 1839, to the same. 
 
 My dear Gouv, I am steamed to death. 
 
 April 10th, 1839, to the same. 
 I am afraid too of consulting too many wise men, lest I should 
 fare as Panurge did when he took counsel as to the propriety 
 of taking to himself a wife, and followed the advice of a fool at 
 last. According to custom we have had Boards to sit and 
 cogitate, and disagree, and compromise, so that in the end 
 nobody will be responsible for a failure if one should take 
 place. If they don't settle the matter soon, I shall dissolve 
 them into empty air, and take the whole matter on my own 
 shoulders. 
 
 This, in effect, he finally had to do ; and the result 
 was the production of two noble vessels, The Missouri 
 and The Mississippi. Both underwent the doom of 
 fire, The Missouri at anchor on a peaceful morning in 
 the friendly harbor of Gibraltar, and her mate in the 
 dead of night whUe attempting to pass the batteries 
 of Vicksburg, with the din of war about her, and the 
 fierce waters of the river whose name she bore clamor- 
 ing for what the other element might spare. 
 
 Other subjects of consequence to the Navy engaged 
 
SECRETARY OF THE NAVT. 279 
 
 his attention, such as the obtaining of better iron for 
 anchors ; and, notably, the production of an American 
 Hemp equal to the best imported. This he looked 
 upon as a national interest. He was not the first 
 Secretary by any means to whom this matter had 
 occurred; but his long experience as navy agent 
 had no doubt impressed on his mind the vital impor- 
 tance of being independent of any foreign supply. 
 Experiments had been made — all failures ; resulting 
 from an apparently insuperable prejudice against the 
 processes of water-rotting hemp, as injurious to health. 
 Was then this essential article of naval equipment to 
 be forever subject to the chances of war? Mr. Pauld- 
 ing pondered it. Clearly there could not but be a 
 remedy. Where ? How to be got at ? 
 
 To him thus casting about for means came, on 
 other, though kindred, business, a certain David 
 Myerle — being one of those men raised up by Provi- 
 dence to accomplish enterprises that foil all meaner 
 spirits. Truly, a man of mark — one of those apt to be 
 stigmatized by superficially-acute men as enthusiasts; 
 but who, when combining with this great gift a prac- 
 tical ability courage and energy, and taking hold of an 
 idea not in words but in reality as a " mission ", effect 
 the wonders of time. Mr. Paulding had the sagacity 
 to appreciate this character, and, as it has since turned 
 out, unfortunately for all his worldly prospects, induced 
 him to undertake the enterprise, and enter into a con- 
 tract of supply. 
 
 This David Myerle, in the face of innumerable 
 obstacles, succeeded in establishing the production of 
 water-rotted hemp as a branch of domestic industry, 
 the success being entirely due to his own force and 
 
280 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDIITG. 
 
 perseverance. As a reward for having added incal- 
 ciilably to the resources of his country, he lived to 
 become almost if not quite blind, over papers, in the 
 sickening position of a claimant before Congress — 
 lived until he came to be crueUy known, among those 
 that withheld from him his justice, by the terribly- 
 grotesque designation of " the water-rotted hemp 
 man." 
 
 He tiad substantially fulfilled his contract, and de-- 
 livered his hemp, which through some underhand 
 influence was, to his ruin, rejected. This was after 
 Mr. Paulding had left the Department. Sixteen years 
 a petitioner for his rights, seventeen favorable reports 
 were made upon his claim ; repeatedly it passed the 
 Senate or the House, but not concurrently; and at 
 last, (sixty five thousand doUars having been the 
 amount admittedly due him in the beginning), a 
 report was made recommending the payment to him 
 of forty four thousand and four hundred doUars, which 
 was cut down to thirty thousand, and so settled. 
 Scarcely the salary of a clerk for those years — much 
 less than half the simple interest on the debt — insuf- 
 ficient, in all probability, to pay his expenses in se- 
 curing it. Then he died. 
 
 Doubtless among many his memory is stiU loaded 
 with the imputation of having been an impostor, a 
 madman, or a cheat. Nevertheless he was the first, 
 practically and in such a way as to make an impres- 
 sion on the producing classes, to furnish the best 
 quality of hemp, native grown. I learn by inquiry 
 at Washington, that at this moment " American 
 water-rotted hemp would be used in the Navy, if it 
 could be procured ; " but that " it is impossible to 
 
SECRETAET OF THE NAVY. 281 
 
 obtain it." Whether the discouragement met with 
 by the first successful experimenter, or the general 
 break-up of agricultural routine in the hemp-pro- 
 ducing states, is the cause of this condition of things, 
 I am unable to state. I only know that he who first 
 made American water-rotted hemp, made it, as it were 
 with his heart's blood. 
 
 Mr. Paulding's disinclination to fudge and flum- 
 ' mery was deeply seated. An illustration of this oc- 
 curred in the summer of 1840, on the occasion of a trip 
 to the White Sulphur Springs, undertaken for the 
 sake of his wife's health. It happened that another 
 party were going forward at the same time, at the 
 head of which was a man of imposing presence. Of 
 course the stage agents were on the look out for the 
 Secretary, and at a little town on the way one morn- 
 ing, pitched upon this gentleman as the great official. 
 In his honor therefore six horses were put to his stage 
 instead of four. Meantime, as things were being made 
 ready for starting, Mr. Paulding could not be found ; 
 but when " the secretary " was fairly off, he emerged 
 from the kitchen chimney-corner, placidly puffing his 
 cigar. Apologies were tendered for the mistake, but 
 he cut them short by remarking to the agent that four 
 horses could break his neck as well as six. 
 
 He was ere long to be relieved from the weight of 
 public dignities. The great Log Cabin revolution 
 was coming on, and the mutterings of the storm 
 grew louder and louder. But Mr. Paulding was 
 always a philosopher, even to the extent of admitting 
 himself sometimes in error. Thus he writes Kemble 
 from Washington, 4th Novr., 1839:— "I know that 
 we are aU apt to lay the blame on others, but so far 
 
282 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 as my experience goes, I have always been obliged to 
 confess, that the stone lay at my own door, else I 
 should not have stumbled." 
 
 Accordingly he viewed the chances of the approach- 
 ing election very coolly. He writes, at various dates, 
 to Irving and Kemble. 
 
 TO IRVING. 
 
 Washingtoh, 3(3 March, 1840. 
 I hear you have bought Mrs. Philipse's place, which I have 
 Bometimes squinted towards as the spot where I would like to 
 doze out the remainder of my days, should I outlive my 
 
 honors. 
 
 TO IRVING. 
 
 Washington, 2d June, 1840. 
 The rumors of resignations in the Cabinet, are, so far as I 
 know, totally without foundation, and, as to being turned out 
 
 next March, we defy the d 1 and all his works, Log 
 
 Cabins, Hard Cider and all. I should not much mind it 
 myself, for I assure you a man works hard for a livelihood 
 here, and is expected to spend all his money in giving enter- 
 tainments, which as everybody is invited to nobody thanks 
 him for. The Patroon is well and hearty. 
 
 TO IRVING. 
 
 Washington, 17th Septr., 1840. 
 We are not much frightened here as yet, and have great con- 
 fidence in the final result of the elections. It will not quite 
 break my heart if things go the other way, for, to a gentle- 
 man of leisure like myself, it comes rather hard to work like 
 a horse and be abused like a pickpocket for my pains. If 
 things go on in this way, no gentleman will consent to govern 
 such a pack of scandalous rogues, and blackguards only will 
 condescend to become great men. To leave the administra- 
 tion now, however, would be cowardly, and notwithstanding 
 the newspaper authority, I have at no time contemplated such 
 
SECEBTAEY OF THE NAVY. 283 
 
 Farewell — may your garden flourish, and ease and quiet 
 be your portion forever. 
 
 Mr. Kemble's term in Congress was to expire on 
 the next fourth of March, and he was not up for re- 
 election. 
 
 TO KEMBLE. 
 
 Washington, 20th Oct., 1840. 
 Judging from my own experience in political life, I should 
 suppose you do not regret the prospect of a little quiet, after 
 such a stormy season. Public stations are becoming little 
 better than pillories, in which a man is set up to be pelted 
 with old shoes and rotten eggs, and the head of a party is 
 either a demigod or a demon. 
 
 Finally, after the election : — 
 
 TO IRVING. 
 
 Washington, llth Novr., 1840. 
 The question being now settled, I am perfectly resigned to my 
 fate, and cannot resist the inclination to rejoice at the prospect 
 of getting rid of a laborious, vexatious, and thankless oiHce, 
 in which my duty has been almost always in direct opposition 
 to my feelings, and I have been obliged to sacrifice private to 
 public considerations 
 
 I have not yet decided where I shall pitch my tent. My 
 inclinations point to Tarrytown, but you have anticipated me 
 in the possession of Mrs. Philipse's house. I feel a sort of 
 yearning, after having completed the circle of life, to return 
 and end where I began. I shall not be able to call myself 
 rich, but when I remember that I set out from that memorable 
 village with seven dollars in my pocket, I ought not to com- 
 plain. I believe I have finished my public life, and the 
 experience I have had in high office gives me no very keen 
 appetite for a renewal. 
 
 In whatever situation I may be, or wherever I cast anchor, 
 be assured my dear Washington, that I shall ever retain that 
 sincere and steady regard I have constantly cherished for my 
 oldest friend. 
 
XIX. 
 
 1841-1843. [^T. 63-65.] 
 
 RETIEEMENT FROM PUBLIC LIFE — RETURN TO NEW TORK — DEATH OF 
 
 HIS WIFE — LETTER FROM MARTIN VAN BUREN TOUR THROUGH THE 
 
 SOUTH AND WEST — LETTERS — ANDREW JACKSON THE MISSISSIPPI 
 
 THE PRAIRIE IN PRAISE OF THE SPINNING WHEEL. 
 
 On the fourth of March, 1841, Mr. Paulding ended 
 his public career. He had served the United States 
 for three and forty years. Before the close of his term 
 of office the health of his wife had so far failed that 
 her condition was almost hopeless. She was removed 
 to the house of her brother, William Kemble, in Beach 
 street New York, and Mr. Paulding rented one a few 
 doors off. Before this was prepared for occupation 
 she died, on the 25th of May, 1841. In this extremity 
 he turned once more to his " oldest friend ", whom, in 
 a few sad words partly addressed in another hand, he 
 summoned to join him in following her to her grave. 
 
 During this year his health was not good, and he 
 was probably too much depressed in spirit to work in 
 his old, fields. Early in the next spring it was sug- 
 gested by ex-president Van Buren that he should join 
 him in a projected tour to the South and West. 
 
 In the year 1839 Mr. Van Buren had purchased the 
 estate of Lindenwald, in his native county, near Kin- 
 derhook, and thither he retired on his defeat in the 
 election. Thence he wrote to Paulding : — 
 [284] 
 
SOUTHERN AND WESTERN TOUB. 285 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 I am extremely happy to hear that you go with us. "We 
 propose to leave here on a week from Monday, and to stay in 
 N. York but a single day. I shall accept no' dinners, and 
 will make all your speeches for you that can't be avoided. 
 So be ready. In great haste 
 
 Very truly yours 
 M. Van Buken. 
 
 K. H. Feby. Sd, '42." 
 
 The above promise is no doubt in answer to a stip- 
 ulation on Mr. Paulding's part as a condition prece- 
 dent to his acceptance of the invitation. Mr. Van 
 Buren used afterward to telJ with much glee how 
 skilfully his companion on this excursion evaded the 
 delegations, deputations, progresses, parades, recep- 
 tions, processions, addresses, serenades, and other 
 annoyances, which are the part and lot of noted 
 politicians, and which should be considered in miti- 
 gation of their sins. In particular, he would relate, 
 how, on one occasion, while crossing one of the great 
 prairies of Illinois in a carriage on a dry and dusty 
 day, Mr. Paulding was unusually talkative, and 
 charmed with the scenery. Suddenly he became 
 reserved, silent, and apparently out of sorts. He had 
 been previously threatened with fever and ague, and 
 Mr. Van Buren naturally inquired : — " Why, Pauld- 
 ing, is there any thing the matter with you ? " 
 
 The indignant ex-secretary grimly jerked his thumb 
 away off to the left, where, low down on the horizon, 
 a small puff, as it were of smoke or dust, was dimly 
 
 to be descried : — " Another d d Committee ! " And 
 
 so it proved. He was caught where there was no 
 escape. 
 
286 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Mr. Paulding adverts to this matter, during this tour, 
 in several letters. In one he observes : " Mr. Van 
 Buren was kidnapped by a Committee at Detroit " ; 
 and in another objects to "this supervision of Com- 
 mittees." He however, in the latter, goes on to say : 
 " But it would be churlish to complain of what pro- 
 ceeds from the kindest feelings, and most liberal hos- 
 pitality." 
 
 I cannot follow our author through the journey. I 
 suppose his general experience is pretty fairly indi- 
 cated in the following extracts from a letter to a niece, 
 Miss Margarette T. Kemble, written at " The Her- 
 mitage ", May 2d, 1842. 
 
 There was a great turn-out at these places, but I kept out 
 of the way as much as possible, for you know there can be but 
 one Punch to a Puppet-show. . . . On landmg [at Nashville] 
 we were received into the bosom of a crowd of some thousands 
 whom I wished in the Eed Sea, for I have a great dislike to 
 being pushed about here and there, and having my toes trod 
 on by fellows with hob nails in their shoes. I met one of 
 them at Columbia [Tennessee] the other day, in the crowd 
 in the yard of the Court House, who planted his foot on one 
 of my corns with such emphasis that the print of the hob nails 
 remains on my boot to this day. " Sir," said I, " I wish you 
 would take your foot off mine." " Sir," said he, " I would 
 with great pleasure, but I can find no other place to put it 
 in.'' This appeared to me a special good reason, so I pro- 
 posed we should take turns, five minutes at a time, and we 
 got on very amicably during the rest of the ceremony, during 
 which I shook hands with about five thousand people, some 
 of whom squeezed my fingers together so tight that it took 
 two days for them to separate, and for that time I was web- 
 fingered. . . . 
 
 If I were only travelling on my own hook, I should cer- 
 
ANDREW JACKSON. 287 
 
 tainly think myself a great man, but as it is, my pride every 
 now and then sustains a mighty fall, by seeing the rustical 
 and barbarous Corydons staring at Mr. Van Buren with open 
 mouths, and taking no notice of me. However I am consoled 
 by the kindness of the "better sort", the aristocracy, and 
 especially the venerable Blue Stockings, who have stultified 
 me into limestone with talking of Boz, The Lady's Book, and 
 Brother Jonathan. 
 
 Whatever may be the ultimate verdict of History as 
 to the influence the life and character of Andrew Jack- 
 son produced upon his country, one thing is certain. 
 There was a magnetism about the man which involved 
 every one who fell within the circle of his personal 
 acquaintance. Mr. Paulding, who had met him in 
 Washington at the close of the war of 1812 ; who, at 
 his request wrote to him occasionally ; and w^ho at the 
 period to which we have now arrived spent three 
 weeks at his house ; — did not escape this witchery. 
 
 In 1837 he had written to Kemble from New Yorlc : 
 " He was sui generis. The power of man is the 
 power over his fellow men. It is this alone that en- 
 ables him to do wonders. Mr. Calhoun has happily 
 dashed off this in the single phrase, that he ' had the 
 power of imprinting his own feelings on the com- 
 munity.' " 
 
 And from a memorandum in a common-place 
 book and an article published in The Democratic 
 Review — both subsequent to the general's death, 
 which occurred on the 8th of June, 1845, — I piece 
 together this character. 
 
 ANDREW JACKSON. 
 He was indeed an extraordinary man; the only 
 man I ever saw that excited my admiration to the 
 
288 LITEKAET LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 pitch of wonder. To him knowledge seemed entirely 
 unnecessary. He saw intuitively into every thing, and 
 reached a conclusion by a short cut while others were 
 beating the bush for the game. His reasoning was 
 impulse, and his impulse inspiration. His genius and 
 his courage were his guides. One pointed out the 
 path; the other prompted him in the pursuit. He 
 never sought an object that he did not succeed in at- 
 taining; and never fought a battle that he did not 
 win. His political opponents ascribed his success to 
 good fortune ; but Fortune, though she often does us 
 a single good turn, soon becomes tired of tagging at 
 the heels of imbecility and folly. To win always 
 is the best proof of skill in the player. 
 
 He began his public career in Tennessee, at a time 
 when — as an old lady, who came up with the first 
 party to Nashville, once told me — " there was neither 
 law nor gospel " there. In such a state of things per- 
 sonal qualities give the law, and courage assumes its 
 proper rank as the first of virtues, because it is the 
 great conservator of all the rest. Here he soon gained 
 that ascendency over the wild spirits he had to cope 
 with, which he ever after maintained in his inter- 
 course with his fellow men. Many anecdotes are told 
 illustrative of his quick decision, his indomitable 
 courage, arid his inflexible determination. There was 
 nothing on earth he despised so much as cowardice, 
 and his highest eulogium on his favorite. General 
 CoiFee, was, " Sir, he was as brave a man as ever 
 stepped." 
 
 General Jackson was not only an honorable, but an 
 upright, man, and equally scorned a mean, as a dis- 
 honest, act. Whatever he might have been in his 
 
ANDREW JACKSON. 289 
 
 youth, he was a pious man in his old age ; and though, 
 as Corporal Trim says, " our armies swore terribly in 
 Flanders", the general had conquered the habit en- 
 tirely before his death. 
 
 At the time I visited him at the Hermitage he was 
 in a condition of extreme physical debility, but his in- 
 tellect was as clear and bright as ever. He was the 
 shadow of a man in body, but the substance in mind. 
 TaU, fleshless, straight as an arrow, and with a 
 profusion of snow-white hair, his appearance was 
 sublime; and his manner more kind, graceful, and 
 benevolent, than that of any man who has ever fallen 
 under my observation. It was not the politeness of 
 conventional habits, but the courtesy of the heart; 
 and his deportment toward his family, his guests, and 
 his slaves, was that of a patriarch of old, presiding 
 over his flocks, his herds, and his dependents. At this 
 period he might almost be said to live without food, 
 for he ate less than an infant. His long table was 
 crowded, nearly every day, by visitors who came from 
 far and near to see him ; but, though he sat down 
 with them, and shared in the gay freedom of the 
 hospitable board, he never tasted any thing but a little 
 rice and mUk. 
 
 Never I believe did the mind of any man so com- 
 pletely predominate over his body. During the last 
 two years of his life its energies kept him alive when 
 his natural powers were exhausted, and probably no 
 man ever died with less pain or less fear. Peace to 
 his spirit! I equally admired and loved him, not 
 only for his high heroic character, but for his private 
 virtues. 
 
 19 
 
290 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Notwithstanding all annoyances, Mr. Paulding came 
 home delighted with his tour, and more than ever im- 
 pressed with the idea of his country's magnificent 
 extent and destiny. Among the results of this ex- 
 cursion were two sketches of the great features of the 
 Western Country, written in 1842 or 1843. 
 
 THE MISSISSIPPL 
 
 " The Father of Rivers", as it was called by the 
 Indians, whose names of places persons and things 
 are so apt and expressive, is assuredly one of the 
 wonders of nature. To the eye it presents itself as 
 the greatest body of fresh water collected and con- 
 veyed in one channel, to be found on the face of the 
 globe. Those who take into consideration the num- 
 ber and magnitude of its tributaries ; the depth of its 
 channel ; and the velocity of its cuiTcnt forever setting 
 in one direction ; must be convinced that none of the 
 great rivers of the earth can compete with it in 
 the vast tribute of waters it bears to the ocean. 
 To the imagination it appeals with still greater effect, 
 as the reservoir of a region whose bosom is yet a 
 mystery; as the great artery into which flow all the 
 rivers, that, like the veins of the human body, permeate 
 that vast undefined world jttstly styled " The Great 
 West", winding its majestic course a distance of 
 three thousand miles, and forming the connecting link 
 between the rough winter of the North and the abode 
 of perpetual spring and summer. 
 
 I arrived in New Orleans at dawn of day, by way 
 of Lake Pontchartrain, about the middle of April, and 
 my first visit was to the Mississippi, then in full flood. 
 The first thing that attracted my attention was that 
 
THE MISSISSIPPI. 291 
 
 the water in the gutters flowed rapidly from the river, 
 instead of towards it ; the next, that I found myself 
 walking up hill in approaching its bank. But the 
 sight of the river drove these oddities from my mind 
 at once. The current was sweeping along, its surface 
 just on a level with its margin, and seemed to be one 
 vast collection of boiling eddies, conflicting which 
 should go foremost. The opposite shore was one 
 dead level, bounded by the distant forest and the 
 horizon, and the river reminded me of a full bumper 
 which a single drop would overflow. These low levee 
 banks contribute to increase the apparent magnitude 
 of the stream, by offering no interruption to the 
 range of the eye as it wanders over the wide expanse 
 of turbid waters, the impression of whose depth is 
 enhanced by the impossibility of anywhere seeing the 
 bottom, thus leaving them for the imagination to 
 fathom. Altogether, though the river was not so wide 
 as others I had seen, the conviction of superior im- 
 portance was immediate and supreme. The truth is, 
 my imagination was dwelling on its almost intermin- 
 able course ; its numberless tributaries ; and its unique 
 characteristic of entire independence on the Ocean, 
 whose tribute it rejects, and whose inroads it laughs to 
 scorn. 
 
 The formation of new points of land, and islands, is 
 constantly going on in this river, which is perpetually 
 robbing Peter to pay Paul. If it cuts off a point of 
 land in one place, it is pretty certain to form another 
 somewhere below, with the spoils filched from above. 
 The islands are established much in the same way. 
 A great tree grounds at some projecting point, or some 
 shallow, of the river, and intercepts fragments of drift 
 
292 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 wood, vast quantities of which come floating down 
 during the high stage of the waters. Here the sand 
 and sediment gather rapidly, until a bank appears 
 above the surface. Sometimes these accumulations 
 are caused by eddies in the current, and it is quite 
 surprising in how short a time they become clothed 
 with trees. The Cotton tree everywhere abounds, and 
 at the proper season the whole atmosphere is iilled 
 with its gossamer, which sails about in the wind, and 
 is occasionally very painful to the eye. This contains 
 the principle of vegetation, and, settling down on these 
 new formations, almost immediately produces a little 
 forest of cotton wood, of such regularity and beauty 
 as can scarcely be described. Every year brings new 
 accessions to the land, and a new growth of cotton 
 trees, which thus exhibit a regular gradation, from the 
 tiny plant just springing up at the edge of the water, 
 to the high tree on the elevated part which was first 
 formed.' Nothing can be more beautiful than these 
 terraces of verdure, each annual growth of which, 
 though higher than that of the succeeding year, is as 
 uniform as a cropped garden hedge, each one present- 
 ing a different shade. The last growth, just rising 
 apparently out of the water, is of an exquisitely soft 
 and delicate green, but the tints of the successive 
 terraces gradually deepen, until the eye at last rests 
 on the dark hues of the primeval forest. The effect 
 of these new formations, especially of the islands, is 
 exceedingly agreeable, and indeed, striking. The 
 gradations of the annual growth of trees convey the 
 impression that they are planted on a conical mound, 
 and give to the eye all the effect of a considerable 
 elevation, although the surface of the earth on which 
 
THE MISSISSIPPI. 293 
 
 they stand is perhaps nowhere more than a few feet 
 above the level of the river. At a little distance, they 
 may be mistaken for hills two or three hundred feet 
 high. 
 
 In the course of the whole voyage I never saw 
 twenty miles of the river at the same time. It is con- 
 tinually resolving itself into what the boatmen call 
 " points and bends ", to wit, on one hand a vast mag- 
 nificent curve of many miles, opening a sea of waters, 
 on the other a point of forest jutting out and appar- 
 ently shutting up the river. You seem continually 
 sailing on a lake, and the opening and closing of these 
 vistas is inexpressibly grand and beautiful. 
 
 People generally complain of the monotony of the 
 Mississippi, but I never became tired of the grand 
 uniformity of the scene, which only serves to impress 
 itself more deeply and permanently on the memory 
 and imagination. 
 
 The Mississippi at night, and especially on moon- 
 light nights, appears in all its glory, and, during my 
 voyage of eight days, we were favored with them, 
 without the interruption of a single storm, and scarcely 
 a single cloud. An almost unchanging calm prevailed, 
 and under the magic of the moonbeams all the un- 
 amiable features of the river disappeared. The vast 
 expanse of waters, sometimes two or three miles wide, 
 was one untroubled glassy mirror, edged by a frame 
 of dark forest, rising like a perpendicular wall of 
 marble from the water, and following its graceful 
 curves in aU directions. The boUing eddies that 
 everywhere disfigure its surface and agitate its bosom, 
 vanish in the lustre which envelops them, and the 
 opaque deformity of the current can no longer be 
 
294 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 distinguished. Thfe skies of this region, until you 
 approach the climate of the North, are of deeper blue, 
 and purer transparency, and I sometimes fancied 
 I could see far beyond the stars, whose radiance, 
 however, is not so keen as in our frosty winter nights. 
 Nothing is heard but the puffing of the steam and 
 the champing of the wheels, to which voyagers soon 
 become so accustomed that they cease to excite 
 attention; and the forest-lined shores exhibit no sign 
 of life or animation, except it may be a far-distant 
 gleam from a fire, kindled as a signal to stop and take 
 .up a passenger. Occasionally a steamboat passes 
 down the stream, or a broadhorn, sliding along as 
 quietly as death itself, adding stillness to the scene. 
 The quiet is profound, yet not dreary ; for every thing 
 around and above, is sublime or beautiful. It is 
 Nature, in aU her grandeur, reposing in the lap of 
 Night. 
 
 Here is a companion picture : — 
 
 THE PRAIRIE. 
 
 The Prairie is not all grass, being everywhere inter- 
 spersed with flowers of every hue and odor, from the 
 wild rose to the wild sun-flower. These are not 
 mixed together, but grow, each species by itself, in 
 beds of several hundreds or thousands of acres. In 
 one place the blue, in another the red, and in a third 
 the yellow, predominates. They jealously guard the 
 purity of their respective castes, and seldom mingle 
 with each other. To the eye, however, as it ranges 
 over the extended plain, the prevailing, and indeed 
 general, tint, is a soft yet brilliant light olive green, 
 which distinguishes it in a striking manner from the 
 
THE PEAIRIE. 295 
 
 deep color of the lines of forest -which grow almost 
 exclusively on the banks of the rivers, whose course 
 they invariably indicate. The soil is a black mould, 
 of varying depth, and inexhaustible fertility; but 
 wants both wood and water. 
 
 The Prairies are a sort of lusus naturce, and those 
 who attempt their description undertake a difficult 
 task, because there is nothing in Nature with which 
 to compare them ; and to give a just idea of their 
 features and complexion requires analogies not to be 
 found in the imagery of the mind. You may talk 
 of vast meadows, but no one can form an idea of 
 a prairie by comparing it with the largest meadow 
 he has ever seen. The Prairie has a character, a 
 physiognomy, and an atmosphere, of its own. Just 
 around you it is all reality; at a distance it is all 
 doubt, delusion, mystification. Distances are magni- 
 fied, or diminished; what seems close by, is often a 
 great way off; and what shows dimly afar, is almost 
 within reach of the hand. What, in passing over, 
 seems a perfect plain, exhibits in perspective a suc- 
 cession of light waving hills rising one above another 
 pencilled in the skies. It is always level under your 
 feet, and yet you see a perpetual succession of little 
 eminences, behind, before, and all around. At one 
 time you behold a solitary house looming up on a 
 rise, which, when you approach it, is a flat expanse, 
 apparently without beginning or end; at another, a 
 distant wood, whose long straight line of deep foliage 
 darkens the sky in which it seems to stand self-sup- 
 ported: — at all events, beneath is vacancy. 
 
 Occasionally you see something sailing across this 
 ocean of land, distinguishable almost as far off as a 
 
296 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 ship at sea. This is a wagon, freighted with the 
 goods atid chattels of a pilgrim journeying to the 
 land of promise, and manned by a troop of lusty 
 children. At first you can see nothing but the peaked 
 ends of the wagon-top, covered with linen or canvas, 
 shaped like gaft-topsails, and one cannot resist the 
 impression always conjured up by the strange rer 
 semblance which an open prairie-scene bears to an 
 ocean on which now and then a vessel heaves in 
 sight. Hence these wagons are aptly called " Prairie 
 Schooners." 
 
 When the atmosphere is hazy, as it generally is on 
 these vast plains, the scenery seems dancing before 
 the dizzy eye, and aU sorts of incongruities present 
 themselves. Cattle appear grazing in the air; hiUs 
 and islands of trees floating on the water ; and every 
 object, whose opacity or magnitude renders it visible 
 at a distance, seems translated from its appropriate 
 eleqient. It is beyond the power of language — I 
 might almost say, imagination — to exaggerate the 
 strange and beautiful combination of what is with 
 what is not, sporting together on these boundless 
 plains. The eye becomes wearied at length with 
 being thus perpetually at fault, and the mind almost 
 revolts at the deception of the senses. 
 
 About this period also we have the following : — 
 IN PRAISE OF THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 
 
 Some forty years ago, I resided in a retired village, 
 built on a narrow level, between a range of high 
 rugged mountains and a wide but rather shallow 
 river, which afforded navigation neither to steamboat 
 
IN PRAISE OP THE SPINNING WHEEL. 297 
 
 nor canoe, though occasionally an adventurous boy 
 would launch himself in its swift current on a plank, 
 and succeed in crossing, after floating down the stream 
 a mile or two. This, however, was considered a 
 great feat, and the successful navigator another Co- 
 lumbus. A large brook, tributary to the river, flowed 
 through the village, after leaving a deep and narrow 
 gorge in the mountain. Wild for the most part, it 
 presented on its margin here and there a bit of green- 
 sward which contrasted agreeably with the surround- 
 ing desolation. Subject to great rises during heavy 
 rains and at the melting of the snow in the spring, it 
 would overflow these little meadows, sometimes to a 
 depth of several feet, thus rendering a residence in 
 the valley dangerous, and obliging the inhabitants 
 to place their rustic dwellings up among the rocks 
 on the side of the mountain. 
 
 The situation of one of these was peculiar. The 
 building, which was constructed of logs in the most 
 primitive style, was placed on a flat projecting rock, 
 perhaps an hundred feet above the stream; and un- 
 derneath, a path wound along its border. When a 
 lad, I used frequently to indulge in the philosophic 
 amusement of angling, and have often seen the good 
 woman of this hold walking back and forth on the 
 rock high in the air, and turning her big spinning- 
 wheel, whose musical and soothing hummings might 
 be heard, keeping time as it were to the murmurs of 
 the brook, and forming a most agreeable concert amid 
 the solitude of the hUls. 
 
 This was many years before Domestic Industry 
 was banished from the fire-side, and when every 
 housewife did her own spinning, assisted by her rosy- 
 
298 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 cheeked girls, instead of carrying her wool and flax 
 to the factory and returning home to idleness and 
 ennui. 
 
 , An aged and an old-fashioned man, 1 hope to be 
 pardoned if I take this occasion to indulge in grievous 
 lamentations over the banishment of the spinning- 
 wheel from among our country people. It furnished 
 the most graceful as well as wholesome employment 
 of all the circle of domestic labors. It afforded a 
 gentle exercise; it filled up those hours of idleness 
 which inevitably occur in the most industrious fami- 
 lies, with an occupation which was rather an amuse- 
 ment than a toil ; and it was a tidy, almost lady-like, 
 art, administering alike to the comfort of the body 
 and the peace of the mind. But, alas ! the spinning- 
 wheel has given place to the spinning-jennies, and 
 our blooming rustic maids are transferred to the sla- 
 very of the manufactory ; or, having little or nothing 
 to do at home, resort to the mischievous alterna- 
 tive, of either gadding abroad, or killing time in the 
 perusal of cock-and-bull stories at a shilling a-piece, 
 which, for the most part, only addle their brains, ex- 
 cite their passions, and pervert their imaginations 
 into a thousand fantastic distortions. 
 
 The foregoing must not be considered as mere 
 declamation, but as the serious reverie of an old 
 man, " looking through a glass, darkened ", over the 
 long vista of departed years. 
 
XX. 
 
 1844-1848. [JEt. 66-70.] 
 
 PHILOSOPHY OP LIFE — REMOVAL TO HYDE PARK — THE OLD CONTI- 
 NENTAL ; OK, THE PRICE OF LIBERTY EXTRACTS FROM — LETTERS 
 
 FROM MARTIN VAN BUREN — AMERICAN COMEDIES — LETTER TO KEM- 
 ELE — THE HUDSON RIVER KAIL-ROAD. 
 
 In a letter to one of his sons, in 1844, Mr. Pauld- 
 ing gives his philosophy of life : — 
 
 Whatever may be your inclinations as to your future life, 
 I shall not interfere with them, assured as I am, that, to be 
 content anywhere, and in any situation, is the great secret of 
 happiness, and that one of the great means of attaining it is 
 to follow one's own tastes, provided they are innocent and do 
 not interfere with those of others. 
 
 A life in the country, if accompanied by those tastes and 
 resources which render even rainy days pleasant, and either 
 fill up our leisure time or render us insensible to its pressure, 
 is, in my opinion, on the whole most conducive to virtue as 
 well as happiness. But no well-educated gentleman should 
 ever flatter himself that the rural life is made for him, unless 
 he possesses a natural taste for rural employments and the 
 beauties of nature, as well as intellectual resources, to keep 
 him from the necessity of resorting to low and vicious indul- 
 gences, merely to pass the time. 
 
 In the summer of 1845 Mr. Paulding purchased a 
 residence at Hyde Park, in the county of his birth, 
 and thither he removed in October of the same year. 
 
 [299] 
 
300 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 The house was situated at one of the most beautiful 
 points of the Hudson, and the neighborhood afforded 
 ample scope for that enjoyment of nature which was 
 his passion. Here he again employed part of his 
 time in literary avocations, and, in 1846, published 
 through Paine and Burgess, New York, a novel in 
 two volumes prepared some years before. He called 
 it THE OLD CONTINENTAL; OB, THE PKICE OF LIB- 
 ERTY. 
 
 The latter title is the more appropriate, as indicat- 
 ing the aim of the work, which is definitely stated in 
 the author's prefatory address 
 
 "TO THE READER. 
 
 Though some of the personages, and a portion of 
 the incidents, of the following tale, are either histori- 
 cal or traditionary, it makes no pretensions to the 
 dignity of a historical romance. The design was, to 
 convey to the mind of the reader some idea of the 
 spirit, the sufferings, and the sacrifices of a class of 
 people who are seldom, if ever, individualized in his- 
 tory, yet who always bear the brunt of war and inva- 
 sion. The hero of the piece once actually existed, 
 and exhibited in his youth many of the qualities here 
 ascribed to him. Some of the adventures detailed 
 were well remembered by the old people of the neigh- 
 borhood, few, if any, of whom are now living. Others 
 took place in different parts of the country, at various 
 times ; and the whole may suffice to give at least a 
 faint picture of the price paid by our fathers and 
 mothers for the freedom we enjoy." 
 
 I give a few extracts bearing on this leading idea. 
 The hero of the story, as the war goes on, cannot 
 
THE OLD CONTINENTAL. 301 
 
 stand remaining at home, and, with the consent of his 
 grandparents, (his mother being dead and his father 
 already with the army), sets out to join the revolu- 
 tionary forces. He makes for, and reaches, the near- 
 est post. 
 
 Our adventurer first sought his father, and the meet- 
 ing was aflfectionately solemn. But after the parent 
 had welbomed his son, he began a long lecture on the 
 impropriety of leaving home, where his presence was 
 required for the protection of the old people, and the 
 cultivation of the farm. 
 
 " Besides," added the captain, " you would have 
 seen me soon, without coming here. I was about 
 asking leave for a few days, as early as next week — 
 however, John, I should not find fault with you for 
 taking aU this trouble to see me. So give me your 
 hand, you are heartily welcome." 
 
 " But, sir," replied John, " I did not come to see 
 you: that is, I did not come on purpose." 
 
 " No ? what then brought you here ? " 
 
 " I came to fight for my country, sir ! " 
 
 "You? why, you're but a boy, a chicken — what 
 will you do amongst our old cocks ? " 
 
 " Crow, and fight like the rest, father." 
 
 " Pooh, John ! go home and take care of the farm, 
 and the old people. I'm sure you've run away with- 
 out permission." 
 
 " No, on my word, sir, they consented." 
 
 "What! mother too?" 
 
 " Yes sir. She opposed it at first, but at last said 
 to me, 'well go, John, fight for your country, and 
 take care of your father.'" 
 
302 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " Did she, the dear old soul ? " exclaimed the cap- 
 tain, drawing his hand across his brow; "but why 
 should I doubt it, when I have seen so many of our 
 women with the hearts of men in their bosoms? 
 John, you can hardly remember your mother, you 
 were so young when you lost her. Though brought 
 up tenderly in a quiet city, I verily believe she never 
 knew what it was to fear for herself. I have seen her 
 twice in situations that made old soldiers turn pale, 
 without a change in her countenance. If you ever 
 turn coward, John, you wUl disgrace both your parents. 
 But you are too young for a soldier of freedom. Can 
 you live without eating ; sleep without covering ; fight 
 without shirt to your back, or shoe to your foot ; with- 
 out pay, and without the hope of victory? If you 
 cannot, you'd better go home. Look at me, John." 
 
 John ran his eye over the poor soldier of freedom, 
 and though he had been absent little more than a 
 year, was struck with the change in his face and 
 person. He had grown very thin ; his brow was 
 seamed with deep furrows ; his hair, which was only 
 a little grizzly when he left home, was now almost 
 white, and a deep scar on his cheek gave token of his 
 having been within arm's reach of an enemy. Cap 
 he had none, but its place was supplied by a coarse 
 wool hat, of a grim, weather-beaten hue, ornamented 
 with a little faded plume, now of a most questionable 
 colour. His epaulet was of the tint of rusty copper ; 
 his garments not only worn threadbare, but rent in 
 more than one place; he wore a qommon leather 
 stock, and his clumsy cowhide boots, the soles of 
 which were gradually departing from the upper leath- 
 ers, were innocent of oU or blacking. His sword was 
 
THE OLD CONTINENTAL. 303 
 
 cased in a scabbard of cartridge paper made by his 
 own hands, and his entire appearance presented no 
 bad emblem of the fortunes of his country. 
 
 " Well, John, what do you think of me ? " 
 
 John made no answer. His heart was too full for 
 words, but he thought to himself, " Such is ever the 
 price of liberty ! " 
 
 " But don't be discouraged, boy. Though I seem 
 rather the worse for wear, I have plenty of money. 
 Look here — " and the captain drew from his pocket 
 a handful of paper money, with a smile that partook 
 of bitter irony. " See how rich I am, if I could only 
 persuade people to take these rags for money. I of- 
 fered Mangham, the pedlar — you know him, I believe, 
 a wary rascal — a hundred dollars for a pair of stock- 
 ings, a luxury I have not enjoyed for some time : but 
 the fellow answered, ' No, captain, if I want to be 
 charitable, I give things away ; but when I trade, I ex- 
 pect something of equal value for my goods.' He 
 ofTered to give me a pair for old acquaintance sake, 
 but I could not bring myself to that. So you see me 
 barefoot, with a pocketful of money." 
 
 " K I were in your situation, sir, I would resign and 
 go home. Let me take your place, while you get a 
 little rest and clothe yourself. I can't bear to see you 
 look like a beggar." 
 
 " No, my son," replied the captain, with a firm de- 
 termination, unalloyed by a single spark of enthusiasm, 
 " no, John ; when I first put on this old rusty sword, 
 I swore never to lay it down till my country was free, 
 or all hope of freedom was at an end. I mean, if 
 God spares my life, to keep my oath, let what else 
 may happen. K my country cannot give me shoes, 
 
304 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 I will fight barefoot ; if she cannot afford me a hat, I 
 will fight bareheaded; and if she can't pay me for my 
 services in money, I will live in the hope of being re- 
 paid hereafter by her gratitude. I know she gives us 
 the best she has to give — that she shares in our suf- 
 ferings — and may God forsake me, when I desert her ! " 
 Such were the men who bore the country on their 
 shoulders, through peril, doubt, and despair : such the 
 unknown heroes, who live only in the blessings they 
 bestowed on posterity. And here lies the mystery 
 which has puzzled the world, namely, the achievement 
 of independence in the face of apparently insuperable 
 obstacles presenting themselves at every step and 
 every moment, which cannot be explained but by the 
 virtuous firmness, the unwavering patriotism, not 
 more of the high than of the low ; not more of those 
 whose names will forever remain objects of national 
 gratitude, than of those whose names were never re- 
 membered. The soul that animated and inspired 
 the revolution, spoke from the lips of this nameless 
 soldier. 
 
 Taken prisoner subsequently, and having escaped, he 
 reaches the old homestead to find more of the price 
 of liberty paid. 
 
 Just as the rising sun glanced his golden beams 
 athwart the dewy fields, he found himself looking 
 from higher ground into the smiling vale where 
 nestled his long lost home. He saw the moss-covered 
 roof of the old stone house, standing in all its loneh- 
 ness ; but no smoke rose from out the chimney-top, as 
 was wont at that hour, and the absence of this token 
 
THE OLD CONTINENTAL. 305 
 
 of life and animation smote like the cold hand of 
 death on his heart. As he gazed around on the fields, 
 he saw neither cattle nor sheep, and the conviction 
 rushed on his mind that he had come too late. He ap- 
 proached the door of the once peaceful mansion with 
 fearful anticipations, and found it standing wide open. 
 He looked in, and saw a sight that thrilled his very 
 soul with mingled anguish and desire of revenge. 
 The good old housewife was sitting, with the head of 
 the old man resting in her lap, while his body lay ex- 
 tended on the floor, which was covered with blood. 
 A plaintive moaning announced that he still lived, but 
 the wife was silent as the grave. Her pale, wrinkled 
 face, was turned toward heaven, as if appealing to its 
 justice, or in humble resignation to its decrees ; her 
 few gray hairs were without the accustomed covering, 
 and she neither complained nor wept. As John stood 
 contemplating this scene of woe, incapable of moving, 
 and almost lifeless, she drew a long, deep sigh, and 
 at length murmured, as to herself, these • melancholy 
 words — 
 
 " My son is dead, my husband is dead, and John 
 will never come home again. Why, O Father of 
 mercy !, why can't I die too ? " 
 
 In an instant John was on his knees by the side 
 of his grandfather. 
 
 " Mother ! ", cried he — - for he remembered no 
 other — " mother, see ! I am come home, never to 
 leave you alone again, so help me heaven ! " 
 
 She looked at him wistfully, as if scarcely recog- 
 nising the speaker, or comprehending his speech, and 
 seeing the bloody gash in his head, murmured as to 
 
 herself — 
 
 20 
 
306 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " More murder — more murder — all but me can 
 die!" 
 
 John took her cold, withered hand, and wept over 
 it. There is a magic power in tears of heartfelt sym- 
 pathy, that communicates with the hearts of others, 
 and awakens even despair to recollection. She looked 
 in his face a whUe, and by degrees recognized her 
 grandson. 
 
 " Oh ! John ! John ! why did you leave us here all 
 alone ? See what has come to us," and she pointed 
 to the bleeding head in her lap. 
 
 Here is the successful appeal of a Quaker's wife to 
 her husband, in behalf of her boys who are eager 
 to fight for their country's liberty. 
 
 " Friend Ruth," said he, " abide thee a little. Thee 
 has been putting wicked notions into the heads of 
 these foolish boys, and spiriting them on to mischief; 
 even now they depart to join in the unlawful business 
 of defending their country. Thee art but half a 
 Quaker, Ruth. What evil spirit possessed thee ? " 
 
 " No evil spirit, friend," replied Ruth, with a mild 
 and simple fervour. " No evil spirit, friend Nathan ; 
 but almost every day, for more than a year past, I have 
 seen the smoke of our neighbours' buildings rising 
 over yonder hill, and I knew who it was that set them 
 on fire. I have heard story after story of farms laid 
 waste, cattle driven away, old men and women abused, 
 even unto death, and young maidens insulted and out- 
 raged by the lawless soldiers from beyond the seas. 
 And when I saw and heard all this, I said to myself, 
 in the bitterness of my heart, am I the mother of wo- 
 
THE OLD CONTINENTAL, 307 
 
 men, that my sons should be idle at home, while their 
 country is bleeding ? Nathan, thou art a Friend, but 
 thou art stUl a man. Thou hast sons with stout hearts 
 and willing minds; wouldst thou see thy country — 
 that generous country which opened its bosom to thy 
 fathers, in times when no other refuge was left them on 
 the face of the earth, ravaged and subdued by the de- 
 scendants of our ancient persecutors — trodden under 
 foot, crushed to the earth in cruel bondage, by those 
 who, at the same time, if they should triumph, will 
 persecute our faith as they did in past days, and make 
 us again exUes or martyrs ? Couldst thou see this, oh 
 Nathan ! and not lend a hand in such woful times of 
 need? — couldst thou, friend Nathan ? " 
 
 As usual, we have many quaint bits of description 
 or moralizing. I close with an extract involving both. 
 Here are the lovers, about to part. 
 
 They rambled under the stately elms and plane trees, 
 that overshadowed the clear murmuring stream, and 
 now began to exhibit the many coloured tints of au- 
 tumn. The maples and sumach, already displayed 
 their scarlet foliage, most beautiful in decay; the 
 hardy brood of autumnal flowers were on the wane, 
 and the blue-birds, the meadow-larks, and the robins, 
 were collecting in flocks, preparing for the sunny re- 
 gions of the south. There was a sober, calm serenity, 
 almost bordering on melancholy, in the aspect of the 
 earth and skies; a soothing gentleness in the mur- 
 murs of the stream, and the soft whisperings of the 
 dying leaves, which ever and anon, smitten by the 
 frost, fell in spiral eddies to the ground or dropt into 
 
308 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 the brook, apt emblems of some dear and well 
 remembered companion, on his way to the home of 
 all the living, the region of eternal suffering or eternal 
 rest. 
 
 Every object around them was calculated to 
 awaken and foster the purest and tenderest emo- 
 tions of the heart, and the impression that their part- 
 ing now might be to meet no more, imparted a deep 
 solemnity to the feelings by which they were inspired. 
 Love, engrossing, overpowering love, fiUed all their 
 hearts — prompting a thousand innocent endearments, 
 such as, at a time like this, may be claimed without 
 assurance, and granted without indelicacy. The si» 
 lent solitudes of nature are not the promoters of the 
 guilty passions; it is where the human race herd 
 together in crowds, amid luxurious seductions appeal- 
 ing to the senses and the imagination through every 
 avenue of the heart, that the passions become epi- 
 demical, spreading like contagion from one to another, 
 until the entire mass becomes diseased and corrupted. 
 There is no incitement to sensuality in the charms of 
 nature ; no seduction in her music ; no mischief in her 
 smiles ; no luxurious fascination in the rich bounties 
 she pours out with such a lavish hand ; and they who 
 would secure to themselves the cheapest, the purest, 
 and the most enduring source of innocent enjoyment, 
 should cherish in their inmost heart a feeling of ad- 
 miration for that stupendous and beautiful fabric, 
 which, more than any other work of his hand, dis- 
 plays the wisdom, the goodness, and the omnipotence 
 of the great Architect of the universe. 
 
 About these years a correspondence was going on 
 
CORBESPONDBNCB. S09 
 
 between Mr. Paulding, and Mr. Van Buren who had 
 settled at Lindenwald near his native village, in 
 which they used occasionally to rally each other about 
 their farming operations. It is pleasant, as exhibit- 
 ing the cheerful subsidence into private station of 
 two men who had played parts in great dramas. 
 The burden of much of Mr. Van Buren's side, half 
 in a serious half in a jocose vein, is — muck. A 
 couple of specimens must suffice. Here is. one of 
 the braggadocio letters. Mr. Van Buren had a. large 
 farm, Mr. Paulding but forty acres. 
 
 M. VAN BUREN TO J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " LlKDBHWALD. Sunday. April 25, 1846. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Your potatoes will go by the Eagle of the ensuing week. 
 You must be sure and not plant before the full of the moon 
 which will be about the 13th of May. You must cut the 
 potatoes into two pieces each and put only two pieces in a 
 liil] — positively no more. This will plant four acres, and if 
 your smcdl farm will not allow you that much, give the seed 
 to your neighbors rather than encumber the ground with 
 them. If you want reasons, a very unreasonable require- 
 ment, know that the Carters have treble the number of eyes 
 that all other kinds have." 
 
 [Mr. Van Buren here diverges into a humorous defence of 
 his housekeeping arrangements, and then recurs to the farm ; 
 speaks of his plantings — one thousand Pear and two thou- 
 sand Apple trees in the ground, and eight thousand Apples 
 on the way; states that he shall plant seventeen acres in 
 potatoes, and has sowed « ninety bushels of oats. Think of 
 that and weep."] 
 
 " P. S. You have behaved badly m not coming up. The 
 sun and moon would stand still if I were to leave my farm 
 at this moment." 
 
310 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 The above allusion to " the full of the moon " re- 
 minds me that Mr. Van Buren used to tell of an old 
 Dutchman, a neighbor, who tried to dissuade him 
 from laying a stone wall when she was on the wane. 
 And now we get upon the great and all-engrossing 
 topic. 
 
 M. VAN BUREN TO J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " LiNDEKWAij} Feby 13th, 1847. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 More curiosities from the muck bed. Since yesterday the 
 learned Cooney [his factotum^ has found, six feet under the 
 muck a considerable quantity of charcoal like the enclosed. 
 How came it there ? He seems to think it affords tolerable 
 proof that the world has once been destroyed by fire 
 
 We find also frequently what we are sure is marl, but, as 
 you once said, it will not effervesce, and be hanged to it. I 
 think however that I have a specimen which has some lime 
 and I mean to test it by mixing it with the muck. I can't 
 think that Nature would have put the two materials so beau- 
 tifully together without some good object. 
 
 That you may not bewilder yourself too much with these 
 interesting matters, I send also for your amusement a letter 
 
 from my queer friend in relation to another friend of 
 
 ours who has taken his departure, which please return. 
 
 Very truly yours 
 M. Van Buren." 
 
 in 1847, Carey & Hart, Philadelphia, published in 
 one volume four "AMERICAN COMEDIES" — so styled. 
 Mr. Paulding was responsible for but one of these 
 productions — his present editor for the rest. It had 
 been wiser in both to have kept them all out of 
 print. 
 
 In the spring of the same year his brother Nathan- 
 iel broke up his business as a wine-merchant in the 
 
LETTERS. 811 
 
 city of New York, and went to reside with him. My 
 uncle was immediately seized with a furor for work- 
 ing in the garden, and to this Mr. Paulding alludes, 
 Sept. 12th, 1847, in a letter to Irving, whose brother 
 Ebenezer had a similar passion. 
 
 " P. S. Remember me to my old friend Capt. 
 Greatheart, and tell him Uncle Nat can beat him all 
 hollow in his exploits in the garden." 
 
 Mr. Paulding had aU his life been an interested 
 observer of, and profuse writer on, public affairs. In 
 the latter years of his life the corruption of parties 
 and decay of patriotic spirit often excited his animad- 
 versions. He writes to Kemble : — 
 
 Htdb Paek. Duchess Cy. 
 February 18th, 1348. 
 
 . . . I remember I used to tell ytou, the administration, 
 in trying to break down Mr. , would break down them- 
 selves, and I think it will prove true. It seems from your 
 report they are beating the bushes for a candidate, and don't 
 caie much whether they put up a 'possum, a woodchuck, or 
 a muskrat, provided he can win the race. This is a poor 
 state of things, and if the People have no more honesty than 
 their rulers, we have nothing left but to trust to Providence, 
 •which I have no doubt will take care of us, since it seems 
 quite clear that we are instruments in his hands for great 
 purposes. We have got on the right track ; we believe in 
 destiny, and that makes destiny. 
 
 But anybody will do for a President now-a-days. The 
 office is fast sinking into contempt and insignificance, and I 
 think it will not be long before the incumbent will be a mere 
 cipher. Congress is every day paring away the Executive 
 authority ; and they will probably soon add to the just pre- 
 roo-ative of declaring war, that of making peace on then- own 
 
312 UTEEARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 terms. We want a sturdy military man as President, who 
 would not shrink from a contest with the noisy machine at 
 the Capitol, and who dared to assert his just prerogatives, 
 like Old Hickory. In my opinion we are in great danger of 
 being tyrannized over by legislation, and that the country 
 will soon be governed by " resolutions " instead of laws. But 
 I have of late arrived at a conclusion which conduces greatly 
 to my repose. I am convinced that so long as we have room 
 for expansion, and the People can sow their wild oats all over 
 the continent, we can't be ruined, either by President or 
 Congress. ...... 
 
 But the Americans are very devils at scribbling, and about 
 equally divided between the Cacoethes Scribendi and the 
 Cacoethes Loquendi. I should like to see a President that 
 could neither write nor talk. 
 
 The above extracts are, in the letter, intermingled 
 with remarks upon various Presidential candidates 
 and other political notabilities, which are diverting 
 enough, but which I suppress. He now branches off 
 to a subject that had annoyed him extremely, and his 
 treatment of which exhibits very favorably the hon- 
 esty of his character. 
 
 I am of opinion — though it goes against my own particu- 
 lar feelings — that both the interests of the public and those 
 of the Company require the Rail Road to be carried along 
 the edge of the river. I have read Jervis's Report, and 
 though I don't think much of his taste in the picturesque, I 
 think him perfectly right in his general conclusions, and shall 
 submit, like a true patriot, to be annoyed for the good of the 
 Public, though no compensation I can expect to receive will 
 prevent me from wishing it had pleased Providence to render 
 the other route the most advantageous. 
 
 This was pretty fair for a man whose chosen and 
 special abhorrence was a Rail-road. 
 
XXI. 
 
 1849. [Mt. 71.] 
 
 THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER — DEDICATION OF — MORSELS OF WIS- 
 DOM — EULOGIUM ON THE DIVINE TOBACCO PIPE — THE WILD MAN IN 
 
 THE WILD WOODS BLOOD-PUDDING LITERATURE — CAPTAIN ABIEL 
 
 SKEERING — EXCOMMUNICATION OF THE DEMON OF WATER POWER — 
 AN OLD AUTHOR'S PARTING ADVICE TO HIS READERS. 
 
 For the copy of a letter containing the first hint of 
 our author's next publication I am indebted to Colonel 
 J, Grant Wilson. The letter was addressed to his 
 father, Mr. WiUiam Wilson, a friend of Mr. Paulding 
 resident at Poughkeepsie, and one of the rather un- 
 common cases of a dealer in literary wares who had 
 at the same time a taste and a talent for literature. 
 
 TO W. WILSON. 
 
 Hyde Park, Duchess County. 
 Dec. 17th, 1848. 
 
 Dear Sir : Having nothing to do in the farming way this win- 
 ter, I have undertaken to splice the " Puritan's Daughter ", 
 as they do steamboats, by cutting them in two, and putting a 
 piece in the middle. With dovetailing here a little, loitering 
 by the way, and stopping now and then to have a talk like 
 Cooper, I shall be able to stretch it to the proper dimensions, 
 I hope, without doing it much damage. Indeed, I think, on 
 the whole, it will rather be improved. It will cost me, how- 
 ever, more labor than writing it in the first instance. It will 
 make two volumes, such as "The Old Continental", perhaps 
 a little larger. 
 
 When YOU go to New York, and get among the trade, I 
 
 [313] 
 
314 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 wish you would see what kjnd of arrangement (for cash) 
 you can make with those Philistines. I could have it ready 
 in about a month, and should not be easily induced to take 
 
 less for it than the old price agreed on by . Had 
 
 they not declined all further negotiation on the subject, in so 
 careless a style, I should have held myself bound to offer the 
 work on the old footing, but as it is, I don't think I owe them 
 the compliment. 
 
 Pray let me have a few lines from you reporting progress, 
 when you make any, as I don't expect to visit Poughkeepsie 
 till spring. I am dear sir, 
 
 Yours very truly 
 
 J. K. Paulding. 
 P. S. — Screw as much out of those rogues as you can, as 
 I contemplate some great agricultural experiments next 
 spring. 
 
 The book above referred to came out in 1849, under 
 the auspices of Baker & Scribner, being a novel in 
 two volumes, entitled THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGH- 
 TER. The moral of this is, that a very conscientious 
 man may make those to whose happiness it is his 
 duty to minister, very unhappy — on principle. 
 
 'The " Dedication " is highly characteristic. 
 
 TO THE MOST HIGH AND MIGHTY SOVEREIGN OP SOVEREIGNS, 
 KING PEOPLE. 
 
 May it please Your Majesty — 
 
 It was the custom, previous to the commencement 
 of Your Majesty's auspicious reign, for every judicious 
 author to dedicate his work to some munificent poten- 
 tate, who, by virtue of the Divine Right of granting 
 pensions, held, as it were, the purse-strings of inspira- 
 tion ; or to some neighboring prince, or noble, whose 
 rank in the State, or whose reputation for taste, might 
 
THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 315 
 
 serve, if not as a guarantee to the merits of the work, 
 at least, in some measm-e, to overawe the vinegarized 
 critics from falling foul of it with tomahawk and 
 scalping-knife. 
 
 I, however, may it please Your Majesty, choose 
 rather to go to the fountain-head — the source and 
 grand reservoir of dignity and power — and scorn to 
 skulk behind the outworks, when I flatter myself I 
 may have the good fortune to effect a lodgment in 
 the very citadel itself, under the immediate protection 
 of your most sacred Majesty, to whom only, of all 
 potentates, can be justly applied the great maxims : 
 " The king can do no wrong " — " The king never 
 dies." 
 
 You alone reign by Divine Right: you alone inherit 
 the privilege, and exercise the poAv^er, of judging the 
 past, directing the present, and presiding over the 
 future. You alone are the great arbiter of living and 
 posthumous fame ; for being yourself immortal, it is 
 yours to confer immortality on others. Your empire is 
 self-governed and self-sustained. You require neither 
 fleets, armies, nor armed police, to enforce your deci- 
 sions, for your fiat is fate. You can set up kings 
 and knock them down like nine-pins ; you can make 
 and unmake laws at pleasure ; you can make little 
 men great, and great men little : your will, when you 
 choose to exert it, is despotic throughout the nations 
 of the earth, for Your Majesty is the only sovereign 
 that ever existed who could justly boast of universal 
 empire. 
 
 Not only is your power without limit, but your 
 judgment infallible in the selection of favorites, and 
 the bestowal of honors. If you call a pigmy a giant, 
 
316 LITERAET LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 a giant he becomes ; and if you dub a man a fool, the 
 wisdom of Solomon cannot save him from the Hos- 
 pital of Incurables. The reputation of heroes, states- 
 men, sages, and philosophers, is entirely at your mercy; 
 you keep the keys of the Temple of Fame, and none 
 can enter without yom- royal permission. In short, 
 when Your Majesty issues a decree it must be carried 
 into effect, for with you there is nothing impossible, 
 and all must obey him who is himself aU. 
 
 It is for these, and other special reasons, which I 
 forbear to enumerate lest I should tire Your Majesty's 
 royal patience, that I have, as it were, turned my back 
 on the rest of the world, and selected Your Majesty 
 as mine own especial Mascenas, knowing fuU well you 
 are of aU patrons the most munificent and discrimi- 
 nating. May it please Your Majesty then to issue 
 your Royal BuU, directing that no critic shall presume 
 to mangle this my work with a stone hatchet, or dis- 
 sect it with a butcher's cleaver, unless he can give a 
 good reason for it ; that it shall be puffed and trum- 
 peted to the uttermost confines of your universal 
 empire, insomuch that it shall go through as many 
 editions as the Pilgrim's Progress, or Robinson Cru- 
 soe ; that all members of Congress, past, present, and 
 future, shall be furnished with a copy at the expense 
 of Your Majesty, and what is more, be obliged to read 
 it — unless their education has been neglected; that 
 whoever ushers it into the world shall make a judi- 
 cious distribution of copies ; and above all, that Your 
 Majesty wiU order and direct some munificent biblio- 
 pole to publish it, at the expense of the author. 
 
 Relying thus on the powerful aid of Your Majesty, 
 I considered it my interest, as well as my duty, to con- 
 
THE PtTBITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 317 
 
 suit Your Majesty's royal palate in the conception 
 and development of this my humble offering; and 
 having been assured by an eminent publisher that 
 Your Majesty relishes nothing but works of fiction 
 and picture-books, I hereby offer at the footstool of 
 your royal clemency a work, which, though containing 
 a great many truths, has, I flatter myself, so dextrously 
 disguised them that Your Majesty will not be a whit 
 the wiser. If I appear, or affect to appear, as an ad- 
 viser or instructor to Your Majesty, it is not that I 
 have the presumption to suppose that Your Majesty 
 requires either advice or instruction, but because it is 
 next to impossible for an author to dissemble the con- 
 viction that he is wiser than his readers. 
 
 Having, for a long time past, been sedulously occu- 
 pied in studying Your Majesty's royal tastes, I am 
 not ignorant of your preference for high-seasoned 
 dishes of foreign cookery, most especially blood-pud- 
 dings, plentifully spiced and sauced with adultery, 
 seduction, poisoning, stabbing, suicide, and aU other 
 sublime excesses of genius. I am aware also that 
 Your Majesty, being yourself able to perform impossi- 
 bilities, believes nothing impossible. Possessing this 
 clew to Your Majesty's royal approbation, I solemnly 
 assure you I have gone as far as I could to secure it, 
 with a safe conscience. I have laid about me pretty 
 handsomely, and sprinkled a good number of my 
 pages with blood enough, I hope, to malte a pudding. 
 If I have any apology to make to Your Majesty, it is 
 for permitting some of my people to die a natural 
 death, a thing so unnatural that it has been banished 
 from all works of fiction aiming at the least semblance 
 to truth. V 
 
818 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 I am aware, may it please Your Majesty, that it is 
 one of the established canons of critical and other 
 criminal courts, that killing is no murder ; and that a 
 writer of fiction is not amenable to any tribunal, civil, 
 ecclesiastical, or critical, for any capital crime, except 
 murdering his own story. But, may it please Your 
 Majesty, I am troubled with weak nerves, and my 
 great-grandfather was a Quaker. I am, therefore, 
 naturally averse to bloodshed, and have more than 
 once nearly fallen into convulsions over the pages of 
 Monsieur Alexandre Dumas, whom I consider a per- 
 fect guillotine among authors. In short, may it please 
 Your Majesty, I abjure poisoning, or smothering with 
 charcoal, and confess myself deplorably behind the 
 spirit of this luminous age, which is as much in 
 advance of all others as the forewheel of a wagon is 
 ahead of the hind ones. 
 
 Your Majesty will, I trust, pardon the most devoted 
 of your servants, for thus intruding on your valuable 
 time. But it is a notoriously well-established fact 
 that authors are a self-sufficient race, who think them- 
 selves qualified to direct Your Majesty's opinions. I 
 therefore make no apology for so universal a failing, 
 and shall liniit myself on this head, to beseeching 
 Your Majesty's forgiveness for introducing to your 
 royal patronage so many honest, discreet women, not 
 one of whom hath the least pretensions to figure at 
 Doctors' Commons, the criminal court, or in modern 
 romance. 
 
 As this is a time when empires are overturned, and 
 potentates exiled, by romances and newspapers, I deem 
 it incumbent on me to conclude this my humble 
 Dedication, by assuring Your Majesty that I have not 
 
THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 319 
 
 the most remote intention of meddling with those 
 dangerous edge-tools, politics and polemics, any far- 
 ther than seemed necessary to render probable the 
 conduct of the actors, and the incidents of my story. 
 I solemnly declare that I have no idea of interfering 
 with Your Majesty's regal prerogative; that I have 
 no design against Your Majesty's royal person ; that I 
 am neither High- Church nor Low- Church, Socialist, 
 Red Republican, Anti-Renter, Agrarian, or Philan- 
 thropist, but a peaceable disciple of the doctrine of 
 passive obedience and non-resistance in aU cases 
 where. Your Majesty's prerogative is concerned. 
 
 One word more, may it please Your Patient Ma- 
 jesty. Not considering myself as writing a historical 
 fiction, or bound by the strict rules of matter of fact, 
 I have indulged in one or two trifling anachronisms, 
 which I refrain from pointing out, in order that Your 
 Majesty may have the pleasure of detecting them 
 yourself. I am. 
 
 May it please your Majesty, 
 
 Your most gracious Majesty's 
 
 Most Faithful, 
 
 Most Humble, 
 
 Most Obedient, 
 
 Most Devoted Servant, 
 
 The Author. 
 Here we have what may be called the lesson of 
 the book, and what he styles — 
 
 Some Morsels op Wisdom 
 
 crammed down the reader's throat in spite op his 
 wry paces. 
 
 All men, says our wise old friend, and, as is affirmed 
 
320 LITEEAET LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 by scandalous persons, all ■women, have a way of their 
 own, and like to have their own way. Now there is 
 an infinite variety of nothings in domestic life, which, 
 though in themselves of no importance, constitute 
 the most fruitful source of trifling disagreements and 
 contradictions that too often in the end produce cool- 
 ness, if not alienation. We have somewhere heard 
 of a couple of the fondest, best tempered people in 
 the world, who unfortunately, one day, in the middle 
 of a long, gloomy, drizzly week in November, during 
 which the sun suffered a total eclipse, fell into an 
 argument on the question, whether people have ten 
 fingers, or only eight fingers and two thumbs. They 
 parted without settling the controversy, and the next 
 day it was renewed with additional vivacity. The 
 habit grew upon them, and each party waxed more 
 warm as well as obstinate. They began to complain 
 bitterly of the peevishness of each other, and finally 
 agreed to a separation on the ground of incompati- 
 bility of temper. Were it possible to penetrate the 
 deep mysteries of wedlock, it would probably be 
 found that in a vast many, perhaps a majority of, 
 cases, matrimonial dissentions arise from a difference 
 of opinion on matters of not the least moment and. 
 to which the parties are totally indifferent. 
 
 Harold was a man of principle. He did every- 
 thing on principle, and often applied his principles to 
 things that involved no principle whatever. Susan, 
 too, was governed by principle ; she was obstinately 
 good, though to do her justice, it was only passive 
 obstinacy, that of non-resistance. No earthly motive 
 could tempt her to do wrong, or act against her set- 
 tled conviction. It would have been better for both, 
 
THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 321 
 
 had they confined their adherence to principle to those 
 acts which involve the obligations of duty to ourselves 
 and others; but they went much farther, and when 
 there was neither right nor wrong in the case, strictly 
 adhered to principle. Yet with aU this, Susan pos- 
 sessed a temper of the sweetest complacency, and 
 never on any occasion contended with her husband. 
 When, as sometimes happened, Harold found fault 
 with her, she would only ply her needle with greater 
 rapidity, and exclaim — "My dear, I don't hear — I 
 don't hear." 
 
 That perseverance, our old friend continues, nay, 
 obstinacy in doing right, is a noble characteristic in 
 man or woman cannot be denied ; and yet it requires 
 to be kept within certain bounds, or it Aiay chance to 
 degenerate into obstinacy in doing wrong. Nothing 
 is more common than to mistake prejudice for prin- 
 ciple, or the suggestions of passion for the dictates 
 of reason. The desire of having our own way, the 
 mere indulgence of the will, is often the substitute 
 for a conviction of right, and in many, very many, 
 cases, what is called acting on principle is only an- 
 excuse for a determination to do as we please. Even 
 conscience is not an infallible guide, else we had not 
 so often seen whole nations forgetting the obligations 
 of humanity charity and justice, and exterminating 
 each other for a mere difference of opinion. It is 
 however the best we have; and though partaking 
 in the 'common weakness of our nature, should be 
 handled with gloves, lest from a sleeping lamb it 
 become a raging tiger. 
 
 There are a vast many occasions, particularly in 
 the. daily intercourse of domestic life, in which it is 
 
 21 
 
322 LITERAEY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 not worth while to be obstinate, and where opposition 
 is oftener the result of wilfulness than reason. It is 
 in yielding to others in such small affairs that what 
 is called good nature consists. This is the honey that 
 sweetens the cup of human life ; the great cement of 
 our social relations, which consist as much in mutual 
 forbearance, as in mutual good offices. A married 
 pair should equally keep clear of the two extremes, 
 of absolute independence, and grovelling submission. 
 Most especially should they avoid all argument, which 
 is only another name for contention. The wise old 
 gentleman from whom we have again quoted, is 
 clearly of this opinion, and earnestly recommends 
 the example of a friend of his, who, whenever his 
 wife expresses dissent to any opinion or proposition, 
 invariably replies, " well, my dear, then there is an 
 end to the argument," — takes up his hat, and quietly 
 goes about his business. 
 
 The same old gentleman begs to caution our read- 
 ers against a fundamental error of a certain married 
 couple with whom he was on terms of intimacy, 
 whose domestic harmony was grievously undermined 
 by a habit of contending, not which should have his, 
 or her, way, but which should concede it to the other. 
 This produced very serious conflicts, which generally 
 ended in the husband exclaiming, '' Zounds, madam, 
 do you think to always have your own way? I 
 desire you to understand that I too have a wiU of 
 my own." The old gentleman, however, obsei-ves, 
 that this is rather an uncommon case, and constitutes 
 an exception. He farther remarks, that argument 
 between the rival domestic powers is most of all dan- 
 gerous where both parties agree ; and affirms he has 
 
THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER, 323 
 
 seen two people exceedingly discomposed, at finding, 
 after a long and warm discussion, that there was in 
 fact no difference of opinion. 
 
 Mr. Paulding at this period had been a temperate 
 and methodical smoker for about half a century, as 
 I suppose, and in this work he gives us, as he terms 
 it, an 
 
 EULOGl'UM ON THE DIVINE TOBACCO PIPE. 
 
 " Moth," said Master Hugh Tyringham to his trusty 
 squire, who was philosophically solacing himself 
 with the truly republican relaxation of the fragrant 
 pipe. We call it republican — not to say demo- 
 cratic — because it is emphatically the poor man's 
 luxury, innocent, cheap, and refreshing ; one that he 
 can enjoy at home in summer on his porch, in winter 
 by his fireside, without seeking abroad for vagrant 
 pleasures ; one that, while it produces a gentle, harm- 
 less excitement, leads to no excesses like the mis- 
 chievous inspiration of wine, and whiles away the 
 time in the intervals of exhausting labor. Well have 
 the wise red men of the woods selected the pipe as 
 the seal of reconciliation, the token that the bloody 
 hatchet has been buried, for it is the very emblem of 
 peace and repose. Would any man wish to calm his 
 troubled spirit, ruffled by the rude elbowings of the 
 busy world, or wasting away with disappointed hopes 
 or never-ending toil; would the philosopher wish to 
 explore the depths of some unfathomable doubt or 
 metaphysical mystery ; would the poet aspire to reach 
 the highest heaven of inspiration, or the lover seek to 
 indulge himself in weaving a web of fancied bliss ; — 
 
324 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 let him light his pipe, and, like the fabled wand of the 
 magician, it will conjure up before him such a host of 
 happy ideas, that he will no longer seek the fruition 
 of dull reality. 
 
 Were we to attempt to exhibit a picture of con- 
 tent — the only real happiness this earth affords — 
 one that would attract the envy of mankind, we 
 would set before them yonder gray-headed Dutch 
 farmer, not fat, but round and portly, with his brown, 
 ruddy face, calm as the noble river that flows along 
 his verdant meadows. He is seated under his porch, 
 one of the last remaining types of the little cocked 
 hat erewhile worn by the great Frederick of Prussia 
 and other celebrated warriors. He has finished his 
 haying and harvest, his barns are full, and generous 
 plenty laughs him in the face. It is a delightful sum- 
 mer evening, and it is not yet time to go to rest. No 
 wind but the sweet southwestern zephyr, which the 
 Indians say comes from the abode of the Great Spirit, 
 ruffles the leaves or the waters ; no noise but that of 
 the rural concert of tinkling bells and lowing herds, 
 nothing to awaken the wickedness of man, or afford 
 his great enemy a bait to lead him astray. 
 
 He has lighted his pipe, and the eddies of smoke 
 ascend in spiral volumes, gradually fading away in 
 boundless space. Beside him sits a wholesome dame 
 plying her knitting needles, and now and then it is 
 clear, from the old man taking the pipe from his 
 mouth, that they are exchanging a few words. On 
 the lower step of the porch, and at a respectful dis- 
 tance, sits honest Coony O'Brien, of the Emerald 
 Isle, a hired man, who, saving that he sometimes 
 makes a respectable blunder, is as honest and well 
 
THE PUEITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 325 
 
 spoken a person as one would wish to meet with. 
 He has saved from his wages enough to pay his 
 brother's passage to the land where labor meets its 
 due reward, and rollicking abundance is born of 
 liberty. Coony, too, is modestly smoking the stump 
 of a pipe, black as ebony, and counting the days till 
 the coming of his brother. Notwithstanding aU the 
 loyal and orthodox writers of England say of Irish 
 ignorance, barbarity, and that sort of thing, they cer- 
 tainly have strong natural feelings and affections, and 
 if they are impatient of the process of starvation, we 
 must expect the apple to sputter a little while roast- 
 ing. The honest fellow looks so comfortable that we 
 could almost find it in our heart to wish we were 
 Coony O'Brien. 
 
 A plague on those musty moralists who would 
 feed the world with crab apples ; who rail against the 
 majesty of tobacco, and seek to deprive the poor and 
 lowly of their cheap, as well as harmless, solace in 
 the few short hours of cessation from labor. And 
 most especially a plague on those pestilent rulers 
 who leave the expensive luxuries of the rich unbur- 
 dened, only to lay the load on the poor man's enjoy- 
 ments. Smoke away, honest, portly Dutchman, and 
 smoke away, Coony; if this is the worst thing you 
 do, would we were in your old shoes. 
 
 And now a picture of another tone. It should be 
 borne in mind that the scene is supposed to be in the 
 South-Easterly portion of Virginia. 
 
 THE WILD MAN IN THE WILD WOODS. 
 
 In the depths of the vast primeval forest, where echo 
 had never replied to the axe of the woodman, the 
 
326 LITEBAET LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 great instrument of civilization, — on the margin of a 
 nameless lake, whose dark waters, though pure as the 
 skies, reflected no object of the earth — was assem- 
 bled a band of red men, a race made for the shade, as 
 the white man is for the sunshine. The lake, several 
 miles in circumference, lay in the centre of swamps 
 whose limits were almost undefinable, and its ap- 
 proaches were at that period only known to the 
 savages who roamed its borders. It was a gloomy, 
 wild, fantastic scene, silent as death, and melancholy 
 as the grave, yet decked with a profusion of flowers 
 and flowering vines of gorgeous tints and various 
 odor, that " wasted their sweetness on the desert air." 
 There every production of nature around the margin 
 of the lake seemed to spring out of the water ; for the 
 land, if so it might be called, was nothing but floating 
 earth, that quivered like a jelly under the light foot of 
 the Indian. Vast cypress trees, with slender limbless 
 trunks, and tufted heads towering to the skies and 
 rocking with the slightest breeze, rose from the water 
 apparently self-supported on its surface ; and with the 
 exception of a level spot on the southern shore which 
 loomed some ten or twelve feet above the surface of 
 the lake, the entire margin was one dead level morass 
 of decayed vegetables saturated with moisture. A 
 numb and moody silence reigned far and near; no 
 woodland minstrel caroled his joyous notes in these 
 pathless wilds, whose unapproachable recesses were 
 never cheered by the rays of the sun even in winter, 
 for the trees were all evergreens and knew no change 
 of seasons. At intervals during the day, a lonely 
 woodpecker, the hermit of the forest, might be heard 
 tapping some rough-barked tree; and sometimes the 
 
THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 327 
 
 monarch eagle was seen in solitary majesty resting on 
 a dry limb, silent and motionless, as if he were the 
 guardian genius of this gloomy empire. 
 
 The hour was near midnight, and a large fire, 
 around which a crowd of dusky figures were moving 
 back and forth, tinged the melancholy cypress trees 
 with a silvery lustre, and threw a long line of light 
 athwart the dark water. It was an Indian council of 
 the surrounding tribes, whose deputies had met to- 
 gether at this secret hour, in this secret haunt, to 
 devise the plan of a general attack on the intruding 
 white man, and practice those preliminary rites which 
 were always the precursors of war to the knife. It is 
 the characteristic of the savages of North America, 
 that they have always some old injury to remember, 
 or some new one to avenge. Though without his- 
 torians to record their wrongs, they never forget them ; 
 and a legacy of revenge is handed down from genera- 
 tion to generation. Time never heals these wounds, 
 however slight ; and when these motives are wanting, 
 a dream interpreted to suit the purpose, a whim of 
 some old woman, a fraud of some mountebank, or a 
 real or pretended desire to appease the spirits of the 
 dead, is sufficient to rouse the ever restless savage to 
 war and rapine. 
 
 The following comes almost as pat in this year, 1867, 
 as it did eighteen twelvemonths ago, during the " Yel- 
 low Cover " era. It formed the introductory chapter 
 to the second volume, and is there headed by the 
 ^^lords — "A preface which ought to have preceded 
 the first volume of this work." 
 
328 LITERABY LIFE OP J. K, PAULDING. 
 
 BLOOD-PUDDING LITERATURE. 
 
 It hath been a mooted point with that class of philo- 
 sophical inquirers which so usefully occupies itseK 
 with discussions that can never be brought to a con- 
 clusion, whether the age gives the tone to literature, 
 or literature to the age. It is a knotty question, and, 
 not being of the least consequence to any practical 
 purpose, it wUl be passed over with the single remark, 
 that it is quite useless for an author to write in good 
 taste if the public won't read, and equally idle for the 
 pubUc to cherish a keen relish for polite literature 
 if there are no authors to administer food to its appe- 
 tite. 
 
 It is certain, however, that owing either to the 
 excessive refinement and intelligence of the age, or it 
 may be, to causes directly the contrary, the present 
 taste of the venerable public is exceedingly carnivo- 
 rous. If any conclusion can be drawn from those 
 classical productions which are so industriously 
 hawked about by the genuine representatives of the 
 illustrious " Dicky Doubt," who, by an allowable 
 figure of speech, may be called the handmaids of the 
 Muses, there must be an exceedingly voracious appe- 
 tite in the reading community for all sorts of breaches 
 of morahty and breaches of the peace, not omitting 
 smothering, poisoning, and suicide. Authors do not 
 mind committing murder in cold blood, or perpetrating 
 any other atrocious crime, any more than they do bor- 
 rowing an idea from some old, forgotten writer ; and 
 the most timid, delicate, nervous lady in the land, who 
 would shriek at the apparition of a caterpillar, or run 
 away from a butterfly, is now so accustomed to bat- 
 
THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 329 
 
 ties, robberies, poisonings, and assassinations, that it 
 would not be altogether surprising if we some day 
 hear of one of the elite, after going the rounds of 
 polite literature, and committing a few murders in the 
 way of poisoning, together with some other fashion- 
 able et coetera — (not proper to mention by name, 
 though the thing itself is highly aristocratic) — making 
 a most brilliant exit by blowing up a whole square of 
 houses and perishing in their ruins. 
 
 There was a time — it was in the dark ages, pre- 
 vious to the apotheosis of phrenology and animal 
 magnetism — there was a time when the records of 
 crime, and those exhibitions of human depravity which 
 disgrace the name of man and make angels weep, were 
 confined to the romance of the police, and the last 
 dying speeches of convicted and converted murderers. 
 A taste for these was considered as characteristic only 
 of the vulgar and depraved, and they seldom ascended 
 to the parlor or the drawing-room, except by stealth. 
 At present, however, it appears that the most fashion- 
 able species of romance is a sort of Newgate calendar, 
 in which the crimes and depravity of the lowest and 
 worst species of real human beings, are cast into the 
 shade by the creation of imaginary monsters. i 
 
 The reader, however, is not to conclude from these 
 preliminaiy remarks that we meditate the presump- 
 tion of finding fault with the prevailing taste for 
 blood-puddings and concentrated soup of depravity. 
 On the contrary, with the amateurs of thorough-going 
 barbarity and wickedness, we are perfectly willing to 
 defer to the taste of the venerable public for that 
 species of meritorious romance, which, if any thing can 
 achieve it, will assuredly, in the shortest possible time 
 
330 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 — with the aid of the "diggings" of California — 
 bring about that Golden Age, when the saint and 
 the assassin shall lie down in peace together; when 
 the sword shall be turned into a bowie knife or a re- 
 volving pistol; firemen meet at midnight conflagra- 
 tions without broken heads and bloody noses; and 
 last and greatest miracle of all, the bright star of 
 Bethlehem cease to be the torch of discord. 
 
 We are full of hope that the time is not far distant, 
 when the human heart shall have become so mellowed 
 and humanized by being accustomed to these pictured 
 horrors, these atrocious crimes, and this total degrada- 
 tion of the human species exhibited in polite literature, 
 that certain portions of select readers will have lost aU 
 perception of the distinction between virtue and vice, 
 and the good and bad will mingle together in perfect 
 harmony. Thus the world might at length be brought 
 to a perfect good understanding, and no more blood 
 be shed, except in romances. 
 
 Doubtless the experiment is worth the trial, and we 
 propose in this our second volume to flourish the 
 besom of destruction somewhat liberally. Hitherto, 
 we have only killed two or three honest people, in fair 
 fight, and, as yet, not one of our actors is qualified for 
 a hero of romance. But we shall do better in future,, 
 by introducing, in due time, a gentleman so utterly 
 divested of any attribute that might redeem him from 
 abhorrence, that he cannot fail to concihate the favor 
 of the judicious reader. It shall go hard with us, too, 
 if we don't commit a most exemplary murder soon. 
 If it comes not in our way, we will seek it. If we 
 can't kill by retail, which is much the most emphatic 
 and striking, we will go at it by wholesale, and de- 
 
THE PUEITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 331 
 
 molish entire communities without regard to age, sex, 
 color or condition. Should all our resources fail, we 
 wiU murder our story, and smother ourselves with 
 charcoal to escape public justice. 
 
 The course of the story carries the principal char- 
 acters to New England, and the Down-East captain 
 who transports them from Virginia is thus taken off. 
 
 CAPTAISr ABIEL SKEERING. 
 
 The vessel which carried Harold and his fortunes 
 was in all respects so unlike a Liverpool or Havre 
 packet of the present day, when far greater pains are 
 taken to make people comfortable abroad than at 
 home, that to compare would only be to contrast 
 them with each other. She was sorely laden with a 
 miscellaneous cargo of such inconceivable articles, 
 that though the insertion would save us at least a 
 dozen pages of wear and tear of thought or inven- 
 tion, we are compelled to give it up in despair. It 
 was a veritable cargo of notions, and the bill of lading 
 almost as capacious as Captain Skeering's flying jib. 
 The cabin, the lockers, and the rat holes, were aU 
 stowed choke-full; and Harold, on insinuating him- 
 self into his berth, found his pillow stuffed with to- 
 bacco stems, which every body knows are an excellent 
 commodity for snuff-making. Now Captain Skeer- 
 ing well knew, that though the good people of Naum- 
 keag abhorred smoking, yet did many of them quiet 
 their consciences by snuff-taking. 
 
 Touching Captain Abiel Skeering, he was one of 
 those strange, unaccountable, nondescripts, that never 
 were, and never wiU be, found anywhere but in his 
 
832 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 own country. He cultivated a little farm, cobbled 
 shoes in winter, and at intervals caught codfish, either 
 along shore, or on the coasts of Newfoundland and 
 Labrador. Between whiles he traded to the Manha- 
 does, Virginia, and the West Indies, up Connecticut 
 River, and the Lord knows where. There was not a 
 hole or corner in which he did not poke his bowsprit 
 to smeU out a bargain ; and, what is very remarkable, 
 he never went anywhere without finding one. He 
 once made a capital speculation by being cast away 
 on Cape Cod, not by defrauding the underwriters, but 
 by exchanging rusty naUs for wampum. In short, he 
 was one of those wise men who never fail to convert 
 a misfortune into a benefit. He was unquestionably 
 an expert seaman, for he went where no one else ever 
 thought of going; and though he never saw, heard, 
 nor dreamed of a nautical almanac, managed to find 
 his way aU the world over, by dint of a combination 
 of skill, luck, and sagacity. He was undoubtedly 
 amphibious, and, for aught we know, his mother 
 might have been a mermaid, for his marine in- 
 stincts seemed equal to those of our Indians in the 
 woods. 
 
 Though, to use his own expression, "he had fol- 
 lowed the sea ever since he was knee high to a 
 grasshopper," he never met with but one disaster, out 
 of which, as before stated, he made a capital specu- 
 lation. Captain Skeering was, withal, an easy, quiet, 
 good-tempered man, and reasonably honest ; though, 
 when it came to a bargain, it must be confessed he 
 shaved rather close. Like aU wise men, he preferred 
 asking questions to answering them. He, moreover, 
 smacked enormously of the Puritan, and he and 
 
THE PURITAN AND HIs' DAUGHTER. 333 
 
 Harold got on exceedingly well together, notwith- 
 standing the latter was sometimes a little put out, 
 by the captain putting in at rivers, creeks, bays, and 
 inlets, to see if there was any thing stirring in the 
 way of a bargain, though to all appearance there 
 was scarcely room to stick a pin in his vessel. He 
 knew what people at ever so great a distance wanted, 
 quite as well as, if not better than, they did themselves ; 
 and if he could only be set going, you might pump 
 out of him more practical knowledge than would set 
 up an academy of science. 
 
 As our author, in his first successful appearance 
 before the world, had, in the " Autumnal Reflections " 
 of Salmagundi, given evidence of a profound and 
 sympathetic communion with Nature, so, in this his 
 latest published work of any consequence, he faUs not 
 to give token of his unabated loyalty to her. Hear 
 how he attacks her direst enemy. 
 
 EXCOMMUNICATION OF THE DEMON OF WATER POWER. 
 
 At length they reached the banks of one of the 
 fairest rivers of the New World, fed by a hundred 
 winding streams, that, like the veins of the human 
 body, convey the life-giving fluid from one extremity 
 of the frame to the other. Coasting upward along 
 its level alluvial banks where no tangled forests im- 
 peded their course, they at length arrived at the foot 
 of a beautiful cascade, as yet unspoiled by the hand 
 of that busy meddler, man ; who, in this age of prog- 
 ress, wickedly sacrifices all the beauties of nature, 
 and banishes all the naiads and the nymphs from 
 their wonted haunts, to make way for that monstrous 
 
334 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 pagan demon, yclept the water power. There is 
 some satisfaction in knowing that at least one half 
 of these sacrilegious caitiffs, who thus outrage the 
 divinity of nature, are punished for their impiety even 
 in this w^orld. Sometimes retribution comes in the 
 shape of a freshet, that sweeps away all his "im- 
 provements," as the rascal calls them, into chaos and 
 night. The insulted river-god rises in his wrath, 
 and in an hour avenges the atrocities of years. Some- 
 times the task devolves on another element, and the 
 flames perform the work of destruction ; and at others 
 political economy punishes this conspiracy against the 
 rights of nature, by letting loose her mysterious jar- 
 gon of supply and demand, maximum and minimum, 
 specific and ad-valorem duties; and last of all, the 
 avenging spirit is let slip on them in the form of a 
 new tariff without protecting duties. Thus are the 
 ringleaders of this crusade, the votaries of the demon 
 of water power, punished in their generation, besides 
 being compelled by the prickings of a guilty con- 
 science to join a temperance society and perish on 
 water. 
 
 Listen, again. This is, as it were, the farewell of 
 an old author to that circle of readers with whom 
 he had for so many years fared cheerfully along the 
 journey of life. It may be held to be his parting 
 advice to whatever readers he may hereafter have. It 
 is his innocent theory of enjoyment, summed up in a 
 few words. 
 
 The sun had just slipped behind the distant hills that 
 rose in waving outlines above the level borders of 
 
THE PURITAN AND HIS DAUGHTER. 335 
 
 the river, and left a flood of glory behind him in the 
 evening sky. A range of airy and fantastic clouds 
 drowsing quietly in the lap of Heaven skirted the 
 horizon, never moving, but perpetually varying in 
 shape and color, and exhibiting, in their changes, aU 
 the colors of the rainbow. The river slept in a dead 
 calm. Not a single tiny wave broke on the white 
 pebbled shore, and not an object moved on its surface 
 but a little skiff, paddled by two negroes, who kept 
 time to the homely, yet pathetic old ditty, which has 
 for its burden " Long time ago." In the sUence and 
 distance its simple .pathos was exquisitely touching ; 
 and the plagiarist mock-bird, after stilling his song 
 and listening a while, vainly attempted to catch its 
 plaintive melody. It was one of those scenes which, 
 though they awaken no joyous feelings, are dear to the 
 senses, the imagination, and the memory. When not 
 overwhelmed with sorrow, or smarting under the lash 
 of remorse, they seldom fail to inspire a pleasing and 
 luxurious melancholy, divested of all painful recollec- 
 tions of the past, aU gloomy anticipations of the 
 future. We confess our delight in lingering about 
 such scenes as this we have just sketched, and that 
 we would fain inspire our readers with a taste which 
 can at all times be so easily gratified. It is a cheap, 
 as well as blameless, luxury ; it costs no sacrifice, and 
 is followed by no regrets ; it is one of those pleasures 
 for which we pay nothing, in the past, the present, or 
 the future; and, in a world where every good we 
 enjoy seems to be so dearly purchased, it is a great 
 privilege to banquet at the feast without paying the 
 reckoning. It is, moreover, a pleasure at aU times 
 and everywhere within reach; and, whUe it appeals 
 
336 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 to the senses, is, at the same time, a step in Jacob's 
 ladder leading from earth to Heaven, since there is an 
 inseparable link between the great Architect of the 
 Universe and his glorious works. 
 
XXII. 
 
 1849. [Mt. 71.] 
 
 EZTBACTS FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POLITICAL WOKK — THE AHEBICAN 
 PEOPLE. 
 
 " The Puritan and his Daughter " is the most care- 
 fully written of Mr. Paulding's productions. It is 
 also, as I have said, his last published effort of any 
 pretence. But it by no means follows that henceforth 
 he laid aside his pen. On the contrary, so long as his 
 strength lasted, he was as industrious as ever; but 
 his labors' for the most part took the direction of poli- 
 tics, and he wrote for reviews and newspapers. The 
 tendency of our National sentiment and policy, both 
 as to home and foreign affairs, gave him much uneasi- 
 ness. Always jealous of the influence of England, he 
 feared her approaches in Central America; and the 
 heart-burnings which resulted in the late civil war were 
 daily looming up into more angry significance. His 
 views on these subjects he put forward through every 
 channel available to him. 
 
 He had occupied himself at intervals for years with 
 a political work which was never published. He 
 called it " The mother and daughter ; or. The United 
 States and The United Kingdom. By Suum Cuique." 
 A few sentences will give an idea of the comparison 
 the author draws between his two competitors. 
 
 Liberty often sleeps, but never dies. 
 
 22 [337] 
 
338 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 The sentiment of loyalty, I might almost say the love 
 of country, is becoming too weak to resist the youth- 
 ful attractions of the New World. Not the fabled 
 songs of the Syrens along the sunny shores of Italy 
 were half so alluring as the voice of Liberty, with the 
 cornucopia in her hand, chanting a welcome to her 
 capacious bosom. 
 
 America is the poor man's inheritance. 
 
 Old and decayed governments are made up of abuses, 
 and one might as well attempt to wash the dirt out of 
 a mud wall, as to renovate them. There will be noth- 
 ing left of the structure. 
 
 English Avriters sneer at these American ■ auguries. 
 Be it so ; yet what is destiny but a belief in destiny ? 
 One begets the other. 
 
 From this work, (incorporating a few hints from 
 other sketches), I take the following character of and 
 warning to 
 
 THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. 
 
 The People of the United States have been consid- 
 ered by foreign writers as a congregation of shreds 
 and patches, without any peculiar or distinctive char- 
 acter. But this is a great mistake ; since, taking into 
 consideration their numbers and the extent of the ter- 
 ritories they occupy, they clearly appear to be the 
 most homogeneous nation in the world. With a few 
 trifling exceptions, they all speak one language and 
 one dialect ; though of a great variety of sects, aU are 
 
THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. 339 
 
 Christians ; and, though descended immediately from 
 a variety of nations, share the common rights of one 
 great family. Whatever disparities may prevail among 
 them at first, they in a little while become cemented 
 together by the strongest of all bonds, that of Liberty 
 and Equality. Although in the United States, as 
 everywhere else, unequal distributions of wealth ne- 
 cessarily occur, from unequal opportunities, exertions, 
 capacity, or fortune, yet such distinctions are not, and 
 cannot be, permanent. The exclusive right of the 
 first-born is not recognized, and the possessions of 
 the wealthy man dwindle into a competency for each 
 of his children. Generally speaking, the grandsons 
 are obliged to begin the world anew. Thus the mon- 
 eyed Aristocracy of one generation becomes the labor- 
 ing Democracy of the next; and thus those bitter 
 hereditary feuds between the few and the many, 
 which elsewhere become more inflexible and malig- 
 nant by being handed down from father to son, can 
 find no root. The aristocrat looks forward to his 
 posterity's becoming democrats, and the poor demo- 
 crat anticipates for his children, if he does not gain it 
 himself, a place among the rich. 
 
 The history of the first race of white men which 
 occupied the Atlantic states is not yet, and I hope 
 never wiU be, forgotten. It should be one of the 
 earliest lessons of our children, for it furnishes admi- 
 rable examples of piety, courage, unconquerable pa- 
 tience, and never-dying hope. When Poetry shall 
 once again devpte herself to heroic themes, and glori- 
 ous endeavor restore to the noblest of the arts its 
 most noble attributes, the early history of this coun- 
 try, its heroes, and its martyrs, will assuredly take its 
 
340 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 appropriate place among those themes which more 
 than any of the works of man partake of immor- 
 tality. 
 
 The inhabitants of this region came of excellent 
 stocks originally, and have been greatly improved by 
 being transplanted to a sphere of action which, from 
 the first, called into requisition all the highest quali- 
 ties of manhood, and gave fuU exercise to their cour- 
 age, their fortitude, their patience, and their inventive 
 powers. They occupied, for generations, the frontier 
 post in the progress of Christianity and civilization. 
 They were the forlorn hope of human Liberty, and 
 bore the brunt, not only of every obstacle which Na- 
 ture herself could place in the way of men, but of the 
 never-sleeping never-dying hostility of an enemy, as 
 has been truly said, " the most subtle, the most bloody, 
 and the most formidable of any on the face of the 
 earth." In this obscure position, among wintry storms 
 and in the midst of interminable forests, these few, 
 laborious, nameless, heroes, wrought out a work which, 
 in future times, when the destiny of this New World 
 is accomplished, will be the miracle of distant ages. 
 Never let their posterity forget what a sublime respon- 
 sibility rests upon them to carry out this great work 
 and consummate this glorious beginning. 
 
 The descendants of these courageous, much-endur- 
 ing, men, have not altogether degenerated. They 
 have, indeed, approximated once more to European 
 habits and refinements, but much of their primitive 
 individuality remains. They are stiU, as a people, 
 distinguished for activity of body and mind, versatile 
 capacity, and a spirit of enterprise, coupled with a 
 certain mental hardihood prompting them to deeds 
 
THE AMERICAN PEOPLE, 341 
 
 and undertakings which those who have been fettered 
 to the great treadmill of the Old World have neither 
 the genius to conceive nor the courage to attempt. 
 Accordingly they have achieved results which scarcely 
 have a parallel in History. 
 
 The people of the Atlantic states, especially the 
 Eastern and Middle, are probably, in proportion to 
 their numbers, the most commercial in the world; 
 and, certainly, the most expert and daring seamen in 
 existence are there to be found. The men of New 
 England have a singular aptitude for nautical life; 
 are equally hardy, adventurous, and skilful; and 
 being, for the most part, brought up in habits of 
 sobriety, retain their vigor and activity to a much 
 later period of life than almost any other class of 
 sailors. Success, when it does not lead to a foolish 
 confidence which neglects the means by which it was 
 attained, is one of the elements of strength, and the 
 seamen of the United States are not only animated 
 by the recollection of repeated triumphs, but are like- 
 wise conscious of having obtained a reputation which 
 is one of the best guarantees for their future conduct. 
 The inhabitants of what is aptly styled " The Great 
 West " constitute a species of men of a most racy and 
 peculiar character. The greater portion of them are 
 natives of the older states or of Europe, and retain 
 some of the habits and modes of thinking character- 
 istic of the places of their birth, in a sufficient degree 
 to distinguish them from each other. But being 
 thrown together in one great and entirely new sphere 
 of action, they have assimilated through the force of 
 circumstances — by the absolute necessity of adopting 
 the same modes of life, and of coping in the first in- 
 
342 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 stance with similar hardships, privations, and dangers. 
 Thus they have in some measure acquired a new 
 being. Both their minds and their bodies have un- 
 dergone a change. The one partakes of that expan- 
 sion which is presumed to result only from study and 
 contemplation, but which is much more frequently 
 due to the exercise of the faculties on a great scale 
 and in situations perpetually stimulating self-depend- 
 ence under the most trying circumstances ; the other 
 becomes more hardy, vigorous, and alert, by wrestling 
 with more formidable difficulties and fatigues. 
 
 Those petty obstacles which deter others from great 
 undertakings are to such men only stimtilants to ac- 
 tion. Thus they have acquired what is their charac- 
 teristic — an independence of mind, a self-reliance, 
 which to a great extent discards the authority of 
 names, precedents, and established opinions. 
 
 This race inhabits the richest region of the earth, 
 the vaUey of the Mississippi, a vast empire capable of 
 supporting in abundance a hundred millions of people. 
 They are increasing beyond example, and will con- 
 tinue to increase ; for there is nothing there of such 
 value as man, and men, like money, will go where 
 they are most wanted and of most worth. 
 
 Should I personify this people, I would say — The 
 Backwoodsman is a soldier from necessity. Mind 
 and body have been disciplined in a practical warfare. 
 He belongs to this continent, and to no other. He is 
 an original. He thinks " big " ; he talks " big " ; and 
 when it is necessary to toe the mark, he acts " big." 
 He is the Genius of the New World. 
 
 It is upon this continent that the superfluous mil- 
 lions of Europe, where " the land grows weary of her 
 
THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. 343 
 
 inhabitants," are seeking and finding an asylum ; and 
 here, that, in the sublime words of George Canning, 
 " The New World will redress the wrongs op the 
 OLD." It afFords the means of happiness and pros- 
 perity to aU those who pine in hopeless poverty and 
 irremediable insignificance, for want of a proper open- 
 ing for the development of those physical and intel- 
 lectual qualities which are the common gift of a 
 common benefactor. Hither comes man, to resume 
 his ancient dignity, as lord of the creation; and to 
 enjoy the free use of that reason which has made him 
 master of the world. He comes to relieve himself and 
 his posterity from the burden of ages, from that weight 
 which in his native land presses him to the dust, so 
 that, in the language of the old Puritan, " though the 
 most precious of aU animals, he is more vile and base 
 than the earth he treads upon." He comes, not to a 
 strange land, but to a home ; not as an alien, to 
 remain for life debarred from all voice and influence 
 in the choice of his rulers, or the making of those laws 
 to which both life and property are subjected, but to 
 share with the descendants of common parents, after 
 a brief probation, all the rights of a free citizen of a 
 free Commonwealth. Surely Providence will prosper 
 such a land, and keep it long sacred as a refuge to 
 mankind. Not all the pigmy politicians of the earth 
 can arrest the progress of what has been grandly called 
 " A deluge op men driven onward by the hand op 
 God." 
 
 With the exception of foreign immigrants — who, 
 however, from being placed in similar situations very 
 soon accommodate themselves to the same emergen- 
 cies — the people of the United States have grown 
 
344 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PADLDING. 
 
 up in a new world presenting an almost unbounded 
 sphere for the exercise of all their energies, physical, 
 intellectual, and moral. From their very first step on 
 this continent they have breasted in their progress a 
 series of labors, dangers, privations, and sufferings, 
 such as perhaps no other civilized race ever encoun- 
 tered with equal fortitude and equal success. Their 
 whole history is one continued struggle with the ob- 
 structions of Nature, and the opposition of her sons. 
 They have had to subdue both man and the earth ; 
 the wUd beast, and the wild Indian ; the floods, the 
 forests, and the very elements themselves. This has 
 been their uniform course for more than two hundred 
 years ; and, consequently, a great majority of them are 
 now precisely in that intermediate state between the 
 extreme refinement which approaches effeminacy and 
 the ruggedness which admits of no softening influ- 
 ences — a state the most favorable to the complete 
 development of man. 
 
 Equally uncorrupted by luxurious indulgence and 
 undebased by abject poverty ; equally exempt from 
 the burden of hopeless toil and the temptations of per- 
 petual idleness ; equally free from the shackles of des- 
 potism and the license of anarchy ; equally master of 
 body and mind; accustomed from their youth, and 
 from generation to generation, to a breadth of action 
 and contemplation almost without limit or circum- 
 scription ; — the faculties of the American People ope- 
 rate on a scale of which the masses of other countries, 
 crimped and cribbed as they are in one little circle of 
 unvaried, unrewarded, labor, can form no conception 
 whatever. The Americans feel that they have sub- 
 dued a world with the rifle, the axe, and the plough ; 
 
THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. 345 
 
 and the recollection of the past is to them the mirror 
 of the future. The laborer in the field, the mechanic 
 at his trade, and the shopkeeper behind his counter, 
 has his imagination wandering into distant regions of 
 the land which hold out a prospect of speedier inde- 
 pendence ; and the Mississippi boatman as he floats 
 lazily down the stream, as like as not is antici- 
 pating the period when he wiU become commander 
 of a steamboat, member of Congress, or founder of 
 a State. 
 
 The United States contain, in proportion to their 
 population, a greater amount of physical strength and 
 activity than is to be found in any other nation. In 
 the new states almost all the men are young, at least 
 in full vigor of body and mind ; and there is not to be 
 found among them that old world class, debilitated in 
 all their faculties by a long continuance of excessive 
 and monotonous labor, and miserably sustained by an 
 inadequate supply of wholesome food. Throughout 
 the country the inhabitants have exhibited those attri- 
 butes indispensable to the pioneer. Though averse 
 to war, they are emphatically a martial race. There 
 is not a more dangerous people under the sun to take 
 by the beard ; and although they often get a broken 
 head in the outset, they almost always give a broken 
 back in the end. In a word, the Americans are a 
 young nation, and only such achieve miracles; they 
 are a free nation, and Liberty creates her own career. 
 
 That such a people, so circumstanced, are destined 
 to play a conspicuous part in the great drama of the 
 future seems very probable, if not certain. They are 
 the cradled Hercules of the present time. Like the 
 fabled demi-god, they too have their choice to make 
 
346 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 between a splendid and a happy destiny ; between a 
 government which shall become great and powerful 
 by sacrificing the liberties and prosperity of the people, 
 and one that shall devote all its wisdom and its ener- 
 gies to the sustaining of those interests. 
 
 I see that this is to become perhaps the greatest, 
 empire the world ever saw, and hope it may also be 
 the happiest. But that this may be so, those manners, 
 habits, and principles, on which the permanent pros- 
 perity of every nation reposes, must be preserved. 
 The American People have incurred a weighty re- 
 sponsibility to the human race, for whose sake as well 
 as their own they should cherish, as the apple of their 
 eye, those virtues which enabled their forefathers to 
 triumph over every impediment of Nature, and their 
 more immediate progenitors to leave behind them a 
 legacy richer than any diadem that ever descended 
 from an imperial brow. Should they, as there is too 
 much reason to fear, through that strong desire for 
 personal independence and personal distinction which 
 is one of our noblest characteristics, degenerate into 
 sordid worshippers of gold ; should they, from what- 
 ever motives, adopt the essential policy and principles 
 of European governments, while preserving merely 
 the outward forms and phrases of Democracy ; should 
 they fall asleep under the shadow of the tree of Lib- 
 erty, while it is distilling poisons : then will it be 
 reduced to a certainty that men cannot govern them- 
 selves, and that, like the wild beasts of the forest, they 
 must be chained, to prevent them from devouring each 
 other. 
 
 If the people of the United States cannot sustain a 
 free government, or if they suffer themselves to be en- 
 
THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. 347 
 
 slaved either by force or fraud, then may the human 
 race read their doom ; for never was there, and never 
 can there be, a people placed under circumstances 
 more favorable to its preservation. The moment they 
 cease to be free they will merit the scorn and contempt 
 of the world. 
 
 Let it be said again:' — It is only by cherishing 
 those principles and preserving those wholesome and 
 manly habits and virtues by which their freedom was 
 acquired, that they can hope to retain it ; for never 
 yet was there a nation that did not sink into abject 
 slavery when it had lost those noble traits. When 
 the love of pelf becomes the ruling passion, and the 
 golden calf the only divinity; when money is made 
 the standard by which men are estimated, and held as 
 the sole agent in the attainment of that happiness 
 which is the common pursuit of all mankind: then 
 will this majestic fabric of Freedom, like every other 
 that has yet reared its lonely front in the great desert 
 of the world, crumble to pieces, and from its ruins 
 will arise a hideous monster with Liberty in his 
 , mouth and Despotism in his heart. 
 
 Let it be said again, and yet again : — If Liberty 
 cannot dwell here, she belongs not to the earth, and 
 must be sought for in the skies. The experiment of 
 this New World will be decisive of the problem 
 whether man in his fallen state is fitted to be other 
 than a slave. 
 
XXIII. 
 
 1850-1852. [^T. 72-74.1 
 
 LETTERS, TO T. CADWALLADER, G. KEMBLE, MISS E. P., W. I. PAULDING — 
 THE LITEKARY WORLD — ALMORAN THE WISE — THE OLD MAN'S BLESS- 
 INGS. 
 
 Some of our author's newspaper articles at this 
 period are surprisingly fuU of a spirit and vivacity 
 as of youth. But I pass them by, and draw more 
 freely than heretofore on his correspondence, which 
 is equally characteristic, and will more appropriately 
 illustrate the remaining years of his life. Almost to 
 the very last there occur touches of that whimsical 
 philosophy which was natural to him. I shall present 
 these letters and fragments of letters in chronological 
 order, but make no pretence of narrative to connect 
 them. They are the separate grains of sand whose 
 passage in the hour-glass is the wasting away of 
 time. 
 
 TO GENERAL THOMAS CADWALLADER. 
 
 Hyde Park, Duchess County. March 0th, 1850. 
 
 I am of opinion that a man never becomes old so 
 
 long as he don't think himself so ; and that he should keep 
 the secret from himself as long as possible. So long as he 
 can busy himself about something — no matter what, so it be 
 not absolutely wicked — he may still enjoy life, especially 
 if he can relish his dinner, tipple his whisky punch, and turn 
 up the ace of trumps now and then. 
 [348] 
 
LETTERS. 349 
 
 TO GOUVEENEUE KEMBLE. 
 
 IlYDB Paek. Nott. 22iJ, 18B0. 
 
 My dear Gouv, 
 
 . . . Though I have lately discovered that I am five years 
 younger than I thought myself, I am daily becoming more 
 averse to locomotion, and seldom leave my premises, except 
 to visit Hyde Park or Pougtikeepsie, on business. But you 
 must not suppose from this that I am growing misanthropic, 
 or even indifferent to my friends whom I love the better the 
 older I grow. As to the world at large, I acknowledge my 
 respect does not keep pace with my age, any more than I can 
 keep pace with the progress of the age, which I begin to 
 think is advancing like a crab, backward, in every thing but 
 rail-roads, steam-packets, and machinery — meaning no dis- 
 respect to your vocation. 
 
 But when a man differs from all the rest of the world, the 
 best thing he can do is to hold his tongue, and console him- 
 self with the conviction that he is wiser than all the block- 
 heads put together. I am in somewhat of this happy state 
 at present, and, as the vulgar say, " Look down on all crea- 
 tion." 
 
 TO GOUVEENEUE KEMBLE. 
 
 Hybk Park. Duchess County. February 23d, 1851. 
 
 To-day it is Spring, and I am become a new man, as happy 
 as a fly the first time he suns himself at the window. 
 
 The following is to a young lady of about fourteen. 
 The " free-soilers " referred to were the Irish labor- 
 ers on the Hudson River railroad then being built, 
 who sometimes helped themselves to the products of 
 other people's ground. 
 
350 LITEEART LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 TO MISS E. P. 
 
 Htdb Pakk. Duchess County. 
 February 24th, 18B1. 
 
 My dear Emily, 
 
 I received your letter, and as it was the only billet from a 
 young lady I have been favored with for at least half a cen- 
 tury, I assure you I felt very proud on the occasion. As the 
 ice has broken up here, and the Spring is approaching, I hope 
 you wUl pay us a visit by and by when the strawberries are 
 ripe, and the Free-soUers have done blowing rocks. Lizzy 
 and Kemble, and all the children, are going down to spend a 
 month at Cold Spring, and Brother Nat and I mean to have 
 a jovial time of it in their absence, as we shall be free from 
 the despotism of Petticoat government, and not be obliged to 
 shave ourselves every day. 
 
 Good bye — remember me to all, and may you grow up an 
 honor to the family. 
 
 Your friend and admirer, 
 
 J. K. Paulding. 
 
 TO W. I. PAULDING. 
 
 Htds Pabk. Duchess County. May 20th, 1851. 
 
 There is so little news stirring in this quarter, 
 
 and so little variety in our daily occupations, that it is difficult 
 to eke out a decent epistle without resorting to abstractions. 
 Like the Vicar of Wakefield, " all our adventures are at 
 the fire side, and all our migrations from the blue bed to 
 the brown." Yet our lives — at least mine — are not tedious, 
 for you will learn one of these days that habit supplies the 
 place of variety, and that the man who goes through a regu- 
 lar routine of the same humdrum occupations and enjoyments 
 is quite as happy as he who seeks pleasure in perpetual 
 change. The former is the peculiar solace of age, the latter 
 
LETTERS. 351 
 
 the peculiar characteristic of youth ; and it is thus that the 
 two extremes of life are pretty much on a par in the pursuit 
 of happiness. One woos the staid old woman, Repose, the 
 other the brisk young damsel, Excitement. But I am get- 
 ting figurative again, and had better return to matters of 
 fact. 
 
 And first as to the weather, which, like the President or 
 the Corporation, is a fair subject for abuse to every freeborn 
 Republican citizen. We have had much rain, considerable 
 fog, plenty of North-Easters, and very little sunshine, for 
 some weeks past. Yet the Spring has crept out gradually, 
 and at this moment every thing around looks beautiful, in 
 spite of wind and weather. It is now precisely the season 
 when the grass is most gaily green, and the foliage most soft 
 and fleecy. If the sun would only shine out a little more I 
 should be quite happy, in spite of taxes and Corporation 
 improvements, two great blessings that result from the peo- 
 ple enjoying the inestimable privilege of choosing the greatest 
 rascals among them for Aldermen and Members of Assem- 
 bly. 
 
 TO GENERAL THOMAS CADWALLADER. 
 
 Htdh Park, Duchess County. Septr. 20th, 1851. 
 
 .... In the first place I differ with you in toto as to the 
 pleasantness of Rhode Island, which I utterly denounce, as 
 a region of fogs, vapors, porgies, tautogs, and quohogs ; 
 where they grind all their corn with windmills, and call 
 Apple sauce Apple butter. I once spent some five or six 
 weeks at Newport. Though midsummer, I found it so cold, 
 that when the sun shone — which was once a week or so — I 
 used to get on the sunny side of the house to smoke my 
 segar ; and when it did not, I was glad to make friends with 
 the cook, and sit in the chimney corner while she was baking 
 johnny-cakes. The very thought of Rhode Island makes 
 my teeth chatter, and at this moment I feel very chilly. As 
 to the sea breeze, in my opinion it is ten times worse than 
 
352 LITERABY LIFE OP J. E. PAULDING. 
 
 Aurus or Boreas, or any of the rascally winds Ulysses shut 
 up in his bags. I don't wonder you were all glad to return 
 to your warm comfortable home. The great use of going to 
 these watering places is to learn by actual comparison the 
 comforts of home. 
 
 In 1851 and the two years following, Mr. Pauld- 
 ing contributed to " The Literary "World " a few 
 brief articles, which he entitled " Odds and Ends, by 
 an obsolete writer." He was fond of embodying 
 an important moral in a short story, often choosing 
 for it an oriental dress. One of the most striking of 
 these occurs in a paper styled " Happiness " furnished 
 to this periodical. A favorite idea with him, he had 
 illustrated it before; but had, probably, at the mo- 
 ment, forgotten the fact. I reproduce it here in a 
 shape derived from several versions. 
 
 ALMOEAN THE WISE. 
 
 The dervis Almoran, called by way of distinction 
 " The Wise," had obtained a great reputation, by 
 studying the Koran, devoting himself to the welfare 
 and happiness of all true Mussulmen, and persecuting 
 the Jews, the Christian dogs, and the followers of 
 Hali, without mercy. 
 
 Almoran the Wise was accustomed to spend much 
 of his time seated cross-legged in a shady grove by 
 the side of a bubbling fountain on the shore of the 
 Bosphorus, smoking his long pipe, and buried in con- 
 templation. His thoughts would often revert to the 
 nature and condition of man, so full of inequalities 
 and contradictions, and apparently so irreconcilable 
 with infinite justice, wisdom, or mercy. " Mashal- 
 lah!," would he say to himself: — " Why is it that a 
 
ALMOBAN THE WISE. 353 
 
 small portion of mankind are rolling in wealth, and 
 enjoying honors dignities luxury and power, while 
 the great mass of their fellows may be said to be pre- 
 served from starvation only by perpetual toil ? Why 
 is it, O Allah !, that a few enjoy every thing without 
 labor, and the iii'any nothing without it? Why are 
 the mind and the body of the slave subjected to the 
 will of the master, while the master can do as he lists 
 and go where he pleases ? And why is it that while 
 one is surfeited with all the delicacies that pamper 
 the palate, thousands and tens of thousands are per- 
 ishing for lack of food ? Surely, surely the blessings 
 of Providence are unequally distributed. Methinks, 
 if I were to create a world, I would order things 
 differently; and secure to my fellow creatures, with 
 the exception of the Jews, the followers of Hali, and 
 the Christian dogs, a more impartial diffusion of hap- 
 piness." 
 
 As Almoran, the wisest of all the disciples of the 
 Prophet and the oracle of the Chief-mufti of Stam- 
 boul, sat thus one day, trying to find out the true 
 road to happiness in order that he might benefit his 
 fellow creatures by communicating the discovery, 
 his speculations were interrupted by a man richly 
 clothed, who, approaching, sat down and sighed heav- 
 ily, crying out at the same time, " O Allah, I beseech 
 thee to relieve me of life, or the burdens with which 
 it is laden ! " 
 
 Almoran, who was a sort of amateur of misery, 
 because it afforded him the pleasure of administering 
 consolation, drew near to the man of sorrow, and 
 kindly inquired the cause of his griefs : — " Art thou 
 in want of food, of friends, of health, or any of those 
 
 23 
 
354 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 comforts of life that are necessary to human happi- 
 ness ; or dost thou lack the advice of experience, or 
 the consolations of sympathy? Speak, for it is the 
 business of my life to bestow them on my fellow 
 creatures." 
 
 " Alas ! " said the stranger, " I require none of these. 
 I have all and more than I need of every thing. I 
 have aU the means of happiness but one, and the 
 want of that renders every other blessing of no 
 value." 
 
 " And what is that ? " asked the dervis, 
 
 " I adore the beautiful Zulema ; but she loves an- 
 other, and all my riches and honors are as nothing. 
 I am the most miserable of men ; my life is a bur- 
 den, and death would be to me the greatest of bless- 
 sings." 
 
 Before Almoran could reply, there approached a 
 poor creature, clothed in rags, and leaning on his 
 staff, bowed to the earth with a load of misery. He 
 sat down moaning, as if in great pain, and, casting 
 his eyes upward, exclaimed, " AUah ! be my star ; for 
 I have none other ! " 
 
 The dervis went to him, and kindly said, " What 
 aUeth thee, poor man ? Perhaps it may be in my power 
 to relieve thy distresses. What wantest thou ? " 
 
 " Every thing ", replied the beggar ; " health, food, 
 Idndred, friends, a home — every thing. I am an out- 
 cast and a wanderer, destitute of every comfort of 
 life. I am the most miserable of mankind; for, in 
 addition to my own sufferings, I see others around me 
 revelling in those luxuries for lack of a small portion 
 of which I am perishing." 
 
 At this moment a third man lounged along with 
 
ALMORAN THE WISE. 355 
 
 sluggish steps and languid look, and, casting himself 
 down by the side of the fountain, stretched out his 
 limbs at free length, and yawning desperately, cried 
 out, " Allah ! what shall I do ? what will become of 
 me ? I am tired of life, which is nothing but a nursery 
 of wants, that when supplied produce only weariness 
 or disgust." 
 
 Almoran asked him also : " What is the cause of 
 thy distress ? what wantest thou ? " 
 
 " I want a want," answered, the other. " I am 
 cursed with the misery of fruition. I have wasted my 
 life in acquiring riches that brought me nothing but 
 disappointment, and honors that no longer gratify my 
 pride or repay me for the labor of sustaining them ; I 
 have been cheated into the pursuit of pleasures that 
 turned to pain in the enjoyment ; and my only want is 
 that I have nothing to desire. I have every thing I 
 wish, and yet I relish nothing." 
 
 Almoran paused a few moments, utterly at a loss 
 to find a remedy for this strange complaint ; then said 
 to himself: — " Allah preserve me !, I see it is aU the 
 same whether men want one thing, every thing, or 
 nothing. It is impossible to make such beings 
 happy, and may I eat dirt if I trouble myself any 
 more in so vain a pursuit." 
 
 Then, taking up his staff, he went on his way, a 
 wiser man. 
 
 The following verses, the ripe expression, so to 
 speak, of that mellowed cheerfulness which character- 
 ized our author's declining years, appeared in The 
 Literary "World, November 6th, 1852. 
 
356 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S BLESSINGS. 
 
 " Honor thj fiither tmd thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which 
 the Lord thy God gireth thee." 
 
 You think, because I'm fourscore years, 
 
 And halt a little in my gait, 
 My life is one of cares and fears, 
 
 And that no blessings on me wait ; 
 
 Tou think I sigh for days long past, 
 When Hope his lamp bright beaming bore. 
 
 When all was fight from first to last, 
 And not a shadow loomed before ; 
 
 That, 'stead of this young phantom dear, 
 
 Lighting my path as on I stray, 
 The spectres foul of guilt and fear 
 
 Are my companions on the way ; 
 
 That nothing now to me is left. 
 
 But patience to endure the load 
 Of added years, each one bereft 
 
 Of blessings which the last bestowed. 
 
 But trust me, friend, it is not so ; 
 
 Age has of joys its hidden store. 
 As rich as youth can e'er bestow, 
 
 Which memory reckons o'er and o'er. 
 
 Remember that the withered leaf, 
 
 Just ere it falls to rise no more, 
 Discloses, for a period brief, 
 
 A brighter tint than e'er it wore. 
 
 Remember, too, in the command. 
 Those who their parents honor here, 
 
 Shall live long in the promised land, 
 And revel in its bounteous cheer. 
 
THE OLD man's blessings. 867 
 
 Old age must then a blessing be, 
 
 Since 'tis the boon which God doth give 
 
 To those whose filial piety 
 
 Merits the chosen bliss, to live. 
 
 What though my head is white as snow. 
 My forehead ploughed in many a furrow. 
 
 My body bent like Indian bow. 
 And I a stick am fain to borrow ! 
 
 What though my sight begins to fade ! 
 
 I still can find my way along — 
 What though my hearing is decayed ! 
 
 I still can hear the woodland song. 
 
 And though young Fancy's feasts are o'er, 
 
 I am not yet condemned to fast ; 
 Drawing from Memory's ample store 
 
 As rich a treat as Hope's repast. 
 
 As o'er my shoulder back I peer, 
 
 I see no spectre's ghastly grin. 
 No scowling imps of guilt or fear, 
 
 Born of, and now avenging, Sin. 
 
 Some marks there are, I must confess, 
 Long time chalked up behind the door — 
 
 Some old offenses, more or less, 
 
 I wish were rubbed from out the score. 
 
 But He who gave His blood for all, 
 
 I hope has shed one drop for me, 
 When He atoned for Adam's fall, 
 
 On the high cross of Calvary. 
 
 This world is still a cheerful scene. 
 
 The sunshine still is clear and bright ; 
 The waving woods and meadows green 
 
 StiU give my heart a mild delight. 
 
358 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 'Tis like the summer twilight eve ; 
 
 Though not so bright as morning's ray, 
 Yet soft and sweet, and hard to leave 
 
 As the more gorgeous tints of day. 
 
 What though grim death, with iron hand, 
 Hath severed many a kindly tie, 
 
 And many of my kindred band 
 
 In yonder church-yard mouldering lie ; 
 
 Old friends — a few — still hover near, 
 Nursing, like me, the feeble flame, 
 
 Who, though they all new faces wear. 
 Are still in heart and soul the same. 
 
 And best of all, a little band 
 
 Of noisy imps climb up my knees, 
 
 And ramble with me, hand in hand. 
 Along the brook, among the trees. 
 
 The old trunk, though its limbs decay. 
 Puts forth new shoots from year to year. 
 
 And 'neath its shadows, rich and gay 
 The grass upsprings, the flowers appear. 
 
 Then why should I of age complain ? 
 
 If 'tis a punishment to prove, 
 God would not promise it to man 
 
 As a reward of filial love. 
 
 Content to live, content to die, 
 
 I care not when king death .appears ; 
 
 But, if 'tis God's good pleasure, I 
 Don't fear to live an hundred years. 
 
XXIV. 
 
 1852-1855. [iET. 74-77.] 
 
 LETTKHS, TO .7. S. SIJIS, MISS K. I'.,.W. I. PAULDING — THE FLIGHT OF TIME 
 — THE STOliY OF AN AUTOGUArU — KELATIONS BETWEEN IRVING AND 
 PAULDING. 
 
 In the year 1852 Mr. Paulding fell into a corre- 
 spondence with the Honorable Joseph S. Sims, of 
 South Carolina, a gentleman with whom he appears 
 to have shared an unanimity of feeling which through 
 the medium of letters, (for they never met), ripened 
 into a sincere and lasting friendship. 
 
 This correspondence originated in an application 
 on the part of Mr. Sims for some particulars of Mr. 
 Paulding's life. Accordingly, the letter of April 10th 
 1852 is a brief autobiographical sketch. From this I 
 have already quoted some passages bearing on his 
 earlier days. What now follows describes himself, 
 his surroundings, and his opinions, at the age of 
 nearly seventy four. 
 
 " Perhaps you may wish to know something of my 
 habits, manners, disposition, and tastes. From having 
 lived so much alone in early life, when my thoughts 
 rose and died without utterance, I am what may be 
 called a silent, contemplative, man, and I speak more 
 with the pen than the tongue. In fact I find great 
 difficulty in arranging my thoughts for a speech ; and 
 it is only when I take pen in hand that they fall into 
 
 [359] 
 
360 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 the ranks, like a company of militia when the captain 
 flourishes his sword and gives the word to dress to 
 the right. Though threescore and fifteen, I have not 
 lost the rural feeling, but enjoy the beauties of Nature 
 with all the zest of youth, as I ramble about my farm, 
 or sit on my piazza which commands one of the finest 
 prospects in the world. I build castles too, sometimes, 
 though they are somewhat frail, and, like the houses 
 in New York, are apt to tumble down before they are 
 finished. I never was avaricious, and have outlived 
 my ambition. Having in my progress through life 
 passed from the lowest to one of the highest stations, 
 through various intermediate stages, and learned from 
 experience that what men cannot find at home they 
 will never acquire abroad, I am tolerably content as 
 I am, and sigh for no change. If the fabled Fountain 
 of Youth flowed at my feet, I doubt whether I should 
 be tempted to drink." 
 
 " My family consists of my bachelor brother — the 
 retired merchant — my eldest son, his wife, and an 
 increasing brood of children. I work a little out of 
 doors, when the season and weather is pleasant, and, 
 during the long winters here, read Fairy Tales of which 
 I am very fond, write occasionally, and amuse myself 
 with the children. By way of interlude, I sometimes 
 laugh at the ' Old Fogies ', their doughty rivals the 
 ' Young Americans ', the MiUeniumites, the Transcen- 
 dentalists, and the Universal Philanthropists. I don't 
 believe in ' Progress ', or that one age is much wiser 
 than another ; because, in my opinion, every age for- 
 gets as much as it learns : nor that every change is an 
 improvement. But still I am on very good terms 
 
LETTERS. 361 
 
 with myself, and the world, which has always treated 
 me better than I deserved ; though I don't think it as 
 wise as it thinks itself, and am of opinion that if it 
 could exchange a little of its superfluous knowledge 
 for an equal proportion of honesty, it would gain by 
 the bargain. I doubt the practicability of reforming 
 mankind by ' excitements ', and the supposed facility 
 of making them better than God made them. In a 
 word, I am in possession of competence, and as much 
 health as I have a right to expect; have a reasonablei 
 good appetite, and sleep sound — a sign of a quiet 
 conscience — or none at all." 
 
 Having, according to request, given a careless list 
 of his works, he concludes : — 
 
 " All these, having lost the charm of novelty, are 
 now nearly out of print, and it is somewhat doubtful 
 whether any of them will reach Posterity." 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 Hyde Park. Duchess County. July 10th, 1852. 
 I have arrived at an age in which the loss of dear friends and 
 relatives seem to be the only calamities worth lamenting, 
 and one of my most earnest hopes is, that I may not live 
 to mourn over the bier of any of the few yet remaining. 
 
 [A prayer not granted. Almost eight years of life were 
 still before him.] 
 
 I thank you ... for your kind wishes for a peaceful close 
 to my long career. When it comes, I hope I may die without 
 pain, and without fear, for these are the only poisoned arrows 
 in the quiver of death. 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 Hyde Park. Duchess County. May 29th, 1853. 
 Old as I am, I still revel in green fields and green woods, 
 and had rather listen to the Boblincons than to Sontag or 
 Alboui. 
 
362 LITEKARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 Hyde Pakk. Duchess County. Novr. 10, 1653. 
 You can scarcely imagine what an antipathy I have to cold. 
 I hate cold puddings, cold beds, and especially cold water and 
 cold weather ; and I could sometimes find in my heart to wish 
 myself a bear that I might retire from the world the first hard 
 frost, and not make my appearance again till Spring. But it 
 has pleased Providence to make me a man, and like a true 
 Turk, I submit to destiny. 
 
 The Puritan and his Daughter is my favorite work, whether 
 because it was the last of my ofispring, or for some other 
 cause. 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 Hyde Park. Duchess County. July 14, 1854. 
 Mr. Ii-ving and I have got to be a couple of Old Fogies. I 
 am seventy six and he seventy three, and as we live some 
 hundred miles apart, we seldom see each other nowadays. 
 The chances are that we never meet again. He is, as you 
 opine, a man of most pure and excellent heart — but — re- 
 member it is a profound secret — he is as testy and quick on 
 the trigger as your most obedient humble servant : who some- 
 times stumbles over a straw, and kills a mosquito without the 
 least compunction. 
 
 The last meeting that occurred between the two 
 veteran authors was, I think, some years before this, 
 in September, 1850. Mr. living's age is mis-stated, he 
 having been at this time but seventy one. 
 
 TO MISS E. p. 
 
 Hyde Park. Novr. 23d, 1654. 
 My dear Emily, 
 
 . . . Brother Nat and I, hearing it is becoming the fashion, 
 talk seriously of letting our beards grow, as shaving every 
 
THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 363 
 
 morning takes up time, and onrs is precious. As I have a 
 great ambition to appear to advantage in your presence next 
 summer, I should lilse to have your opinion on the subject. 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 Hyde Pahk. Ducliess County. Oct. 13, 1855. 
 .... Death has been busy about me of late. "VVitliin the 
 last year I have lost a brother and a sister, both between 
 the ages of eighty and ninety, when life becomes little more 
 than a theme for memory, and there is little room for antici- 
 pation except beyond tl)e grave. They left behind the most 
 precious of all legacies, a good name, and died vi^ithout fear 
 and without reproach. Of eight brothers and sisters but 
 myself and one brother remain, and I am the youngest but 
 one of tiiem all. . . . 
 
 "We two are the last of the brood, and I believe I may say 
 with truth there are few old men living who are sliding down 
 the hill of life more smoothly, and at the same time looking 
 forward to the end of their journey more calmly than we two 
 old patriarchs. Old age creeps on us almost imperceptibly, 
 and I find that as the degrees of longitude grow shorter as 
 we approach the poles, so every passing year slips away more 
 imperceptibly, and leaves fewer traces behind. Every day 
 is so mucli like the others that there is nothing to mark the 
 course of time. 
 
 A strain of idea somewhat similar to the above he 
 put into verse about this time, or perhaps a little 
 earlier. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF TIME. 
 Time flies with youth, writes many a sage, 
 But old men know time flies with age. 
 Still swifter roll the passing years, 
 As near our journey's end appears ; 
 The closer we approach our homes, 
 The down-hill course more fleet becomes. 
 
364 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Just as the weary, worn-out, nag, 
 Whose strength is gone, whose spirits flag, 
 Pricks up his ears, and mends his pace. 
 At sight of his night's resting place. 
 
 TO W. I. PAULDING. 
 Hyde Park. Duchess County. Deer. 11th. 1865. 
 Though not exactly infirm, I begin to feel the effects of age, 
 and repose has become necessary to my health, and most es- 
 pecially to my comfort. Habit is to age what variety is to 
 youth, and it is a great blessing that when we become incapa- 
 ble of pursuing one we can enjoy the other. 
 
 At the close of the year 1855 occur the last letters 
 that passed between Mr. Paulding and Mr. Irving. 
 They are due to an application for the latter's signa- 
 ture, made in behalf of a friend by the young lady 
 correspondent whose initials have already appeared in 
 these pages. The circumstance will bear pursuing 
 into its details, as illustrating the kindly and cheerful 
 spirit with which two old men regarded each other, 
 friends of early days, and the great world, of which to 
 be sure neither of them had cause to complain. Mr. 
 Pierre M. Irving has given his uncle's letter in Vol. IV. 
 of his " Life." I reproduce it here, as necessary to the 
 connexion of what perhaps might be styled 
 
 THE STORY OF AK AUTOGRAPH. 
 Enter Prologue, (per post) : — 
 
 TO MISS E. P. 
 
 Hyde Pakk. Duchess County. Deer. 16th, 1S66. 
 My dear Emily, 
 
 Though I have in my time received many letters from Mr. 
 Irving, my papers are in such a state of confusion that I don't 
 know where to look for them. I have however written to 
 
THE STOET OF AN AUTOGRAPH. 365 
 
 him to send me his autograph for one of the most beautiful 
 young ladies in this or any other world, and have no doubt 
 he wUl put on his specs and write his name in the best possi- 
 ble style. When received I will lose no time in sending it to 
 you. 
 
 I am looking out for Spring, but it will be long in coming, 
 and have such a decided antipathy to Winter, that I sometimes 
 almost wish I could, like Sir Bruin, creep into a hollow tree 
 and make one nap of it. But on the whole the time slips 
 away so rapidly, that I lose a day, and sometimes two, almost 
 every week. ... I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and send 
 you two kisses, one for Christmas the other for New Year. 
 I should like to deliver them in person, for they always re- 
 mind me of the balmy breath of spring and the dews of morn- 
 ing on the opening rose. 
 
 Your affectionate old friend, 
 
 J. K. Paulding. 
 
 The action begins in earnest. 
 
 TO WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 Hyde Park. Duchess County. Deer. 16th, 18B6. 
 My dear Irving, 
 
 One of the most beautifiil young ladies in this or any other 
 world has written to me, to know if I can find an autograph 
 of yours among my letters. I dare say I have more than one 
 in my possession ; but my papers are in such confusion that 
 I don't know where to look for it. I therefore request you 
 will be kind enough to send me your name written in your 
 best manner that I may forward it to this paragon of a young 
 
 lady. 
 
 I hope you are sliding smoothly down the hill, and lik.; 
 myself reasonably exempt from those infirmities of age which 
 80 often render old men a burden to themselves and all around 
 them. Brother Nat and I, now the last of the brotherhood, 
 are jogging on together in good humour with each other and 
 
366 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 with the world, ever since we both became confirmed opti- 
 mists. It is a species of philosophy that saves men a world 
 of trouble. I am, my dear Washington, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 J. K. Paulding. 
 The plot thickens. 
 
 TO J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " SusNYSiDE, Dec. 24, 1835. 
 My dear Paulding, 
 
 I enclose an autograph for the ' paragon of a young lady ', 
 whose beauty you extol beyond the stars. It is a good sign 
 that your heart is yet so inflammable. 
 
 I am glad to receive such good accounts as you give of your- 
 self and your brother, 'jogging on together in good humor 
 with each other and with the world.' Happy is he who can 
 grow smooth as an old shilling as he wears out ; he has en- 
 dured the rubs of life to some purpose. 
 
 You hope I am ' sliding smoothly down the hill '. I thank 
 you for the hope. I am better off than most old bachelors 
 are, or deserve to be. I have a happy home ; the happier 
 for being always well stocked with womenkind, without whom 
 an old bachelor is a forlorn, dreary animal. My brother, the 
 ' General ', is wearing out the serene evening of life with me ; 
 almost entirely deaf, but in good health and good spirits, more 
 and more immersed in the study of newspapers (with which 
 I keep him copiously supplied), and, through them, better 
 acquainted with what is going on in the world than I am, who 
 mingle with it occasionally, and have ears as well as eyes 
 open. His daughters take care of us both, and keep the little 
 world of home in perfect order. 
 
 I have had many vivid enjoyments in the course of my 
 life, yet no portion of it has been more equably and se- 
 renely happy than that which I have passed in my little 
 nest in the country. I am just near enough to town to dip 
 into it occasionally for a day or two, give my mind an airing, 
 
THE STORY OP AN AUTOGKAPH. 367 
 
 keep my notions a little up to the fashion of the times, and 
 then return to my quiet little home with redoubled relish. 
 
 I have now my house full for the Christmas holidays, 
 which I trust you also keep up in the good old style. Wish- 
 ing a merry Christmas and a happy New Year to you and 
 yours, I remain, my dear Paulding, 
 
 Yours ever, very truly, 
 
 Washington Ikving." 
 
 This letter enclosed — shall we call it the catas- 
 trophe ? — a half sheet of note paper, on which the 
 hand of the humorist of Sunnyside had traced these 
 words : — 
 
 "WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 Written at the request of James K. Paulding, for 
 'one of the most beautiful young ladies in this or 
 any other world' — as he says." 
 
 What a sly old stager it was, to be sure ! Well, 
 notwithstanding this horrible bit of implied distrust 
 and lack of gallantry, Mr. Paulding forwards the 
 document. His letter may be considered as the Epi- 
 logue to this " scene individable." 
 
 TO MISS E. p. 
 Hyde Park, Duchess County. December 28th, 1855. 
 
 My dear Emily, 
 
 I have the pleasure to inclose you the autograph of Mr. 
 Irving, written in his very best manner for the most beautiful 
 young lady in this or any other world — meaning yourself, 
 whom he recollects to have seen in a vision before you were 
 born. 
 
 I wish you had been with us Christmas day — which Dr. 
 S. has christened " Nativity " — as we had quite a party, con- 
 sisting of Will and Mary, Jemmy, and Dr. C. We drank all 
 your healths and a happy Christmas, and, as the newspapers 
 
368 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 say, " the company separated at an early hour, highly pleased 
 with each other." 
 
 We have had for the last two days one of those gorgeous 
 spectacles which I have sometimes seen before, but which 
 seldom last much longer than a rainbow. The trees, and 
 indeed the whole face of Nature, were coated with ice, and as 
 the weather has been cold, it has remained during two days 
 of sunshine. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and topazes, have 
 decked every tree and blade of grass, and Prince Esterhazy's 
 diamond coat was a beggar's garment compared with Ihe 
 gorgeous veil cast over the face of Nature. Let no one say 
 after seeing such a sight that Winter has not its charms, as 
 weir as Spring, Summer, and Autumn, or that old men are 
 not sometimes the most agreeable people in the world, except 
 young ones 
 
 I once more wish you a happy New Year, with another 
 kiss for fear the last may not have come to hand ; and am, 
 my dear EmUy, 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 J. K. Paulding. 
 And, as the children say, that's all. 
 
 Here ends a correspondence between Irving and 
 Paulding of over half a century. If any subsequent 
 letters were written on either part, they have not been 
 preserved. Throughout this long course of years 
 there is no indication of any difference having oc- 
 curred between the two. Mr. Paulding exhibits, 
 always, a steady and loving regard ; a readiness with 
 a manly word of encouragement in his friend's des- 
 ponding moods; a willingness to lend a helping 
 hand, in any way, to further his interest ; a concern 
 for his reputation ; and a pride, unalloyed with a par- 
 ticle of envy, in his fame; — which, altogether, set his 
 character in the most amiable light. 
 
IRVING AND PAULDING. 369 
 
 Both were now old men, Washington Irving well 
 on to seventy three, and James K. Paulding to seventy 
 eight. Mr. Irving had yet nearly four years of life 
 before him, as it proved, and when he died his friend 
 was failing fast, surviving him about four months. 
 It is anticipating the order of time, but it may be 
 said here that though my father evidently felt the 
 death of his early associate, yet, with the reticence of 
 his character as far as the tongue is concerned, he is 
 not remembered to have made any allusion to the 
 subject. It dwells uncertainly in my memory, how- 
 ever, that, one day in the summer of 1859, when it 
 was known that Mr. Irving's health was very preca- 
 rious, and his own strength was obviously breaking, 
 he said to me : " Well, we are running a race, and it 
 appears to be likely that my old friend, Irving, may 
 get the start of me, after all." 
 
 24 
 
XXV. 
 
 1856-1858. [JEt. 78-80.] 
 
 LETTEES, TO G. KEMBLE, 1. G. PEARSON, J. o. SIMS — THE DESOLATE OLD 
 MAN — THE ANGEL OF TIME — WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 Mr. Paulding began now to feel the approaches of 
 decay. But a few days after the correspondence with 
 Irving closed, he wrote thus of himself: — 
 
 TO GOUVERNEUR KEMBLE. 
 
 Hyde Park, Duchess County. January 2S(1, 1856. 
 
 My dear Gouv, 
 
 Nothing would afford me greater pleasure than assisting 
 at the celebration of your birthday, and if it had only come 
 in summer instead of mid-winter I should certainly be with 
 you. But there is no disguising or denying that I am grow- 
 ing old, and that, like a ricketty chest of drawers, though I 
 may hang together if left alone in a corner, it won't do to 
 disturb me, for fear of my falling to pieces. I mean, please 
 God, to drink your health in a bumper or two of old wine, 
 let what will be the consequence. 
 
 Uncle Nat and I have not been a hundred yards from the 
 fireside for nearly two months past, and you can't imagine 
 how I long to crawl out and sun myself like a snake in the 
 Spring. 
 
 TO I. G. PEARSON. 
 
 Hyde Park, Duchess County. 2nd May, 1856. 
 The Spring is still backward, and playing its old tricks, 
 one step forward and two backward, like minuet dancers. 
 [870] 
 
LETTERS. 371 
 
 But the grass is green, and the foliage striving to put forth, 
 and the shad are beginning to find their way among our 
 waters. Then we have plenty of spinach and asparagus, and 
 are beginning to cherish the glorious anticipation of green 
 peas. 
 
 Kemble [his son] is very busy and very industrious, and 
 in a year fi'om this time our farm will bang all Duchess 
 County, not excepting the famous township of Bangall at the 
 North P'ast corner. 
 
 It will be a great pleasure to me and Brother Nat when 
 you once more take possession of your old quarters, and we 
 can show the young ladies a specimen of the gallantry of the 
 old school. 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 Hyde Park, Duchess County. June 29, 1857. 
 
 I am gradually becoming a bundle of little infirmities, and 
 find my best remedy is to repeat to myself, " Patience, pa- 
 tience, patience my friend ; " and I assure you it operates, if 
 not as a cure, at least as a palliative. 
 
 You talk of details " of my works in the fields, and in my 
 garden " : but for the last two or three years I have been past 
 all that. My last exploit was burning the dry leaves in a 
 little copse of wood, in order that the grass might have a 
 chance of growing, the catastrophe of which was that I set 
 fire to the tail of my coat, and burnt up some lengths of a 
 board fence, in consequence of which my son has tabooed all 
 such experiments in future. In sober truth my working days 
 are over, though I now and then smite off the head of a 
 bull's eye, or the turban of a dandelion, with my cane. All 
 I can do is to sit under a tree in summer, and see the men at 
 work, which is sufiicient exercise ; nay, sometimes too much : 
 for, as you may recollect Sancho Panza got a violent pain in 
 his bones at seeing his master tossed in a blanket, I do assure 
 you I have sometimes got the back-ache in contemplating my 
 men building stone walls. 
 
872 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 Hyde Park, Duchess County. February 6th, 1858. 
 I have lately had an attack of influenza, which is a sore 
 enemy to old men of fourscore, who have little of the power 
 of renovation left. The ground they lose they can never 
 regain, and I feel the effects of what was but a trifling indis- 
 position very sensibly, both intellectually and physically. 
 The exercise of my pen, which was rather a recreation than 
 a labor, has become tiresome, and I have come to the conclu- 
 sion that it is high time to lay aside my long cherished voca- 
 tion. I am on speaking terms with the world ; but, out of 
 the circle of my family and friends, I care little about it, 
 being no philanthropist. I leave it to the direction of Him 
 by whom it was created. I am willing to live as long as it 
 pleases Him ; my most earnest prayer is that I may not live 
 to weep over any more of the graves of those I love, and 
 that I may die without pain and without fear. 
 
 It was somewhere about this time, as I suppose, 
 that he wrote the following lines — one of the rare 
 instances in which a sad or complaining spirit ap- 
 pears. 
 
 THE DESOLATE OLD MAN. 
 Videlicet H. S. [? himself.] 
 I'm weary, yet I cannot sleep ; 
 I can not laugh, nor can I weep ; 
 I sufifer little, less enjoy ; 
 Ease wearies me, and cares annoy. 
 I stand, a withered trunk, alone. 
 My roots decayed, my limbs all gone. 
 Those whom I loved have passed away, 
 And those who loved me — where are they ? 
 The past is one wide desert drear, 
 The future an approaching bier. 
 Strange that in living we outlive 
 All that in life can pleasure give ! 
 
THE PORTRAIT ENGRAVED. 373 
 
 And strange that still we linger here, 
 Not lured by hope, but checked by fear; 
 Not that this gloomy world we love, 
 But know not what the next may prove. 
 
 It is a melancholy business to follow the breaking 
 of a vigorous, man, and to see the shadow of death 
 gradually darkening about his path. But there were 
 flashes of the old spirit all along, and his opinions, 
 prejudices, and whim-whams, asserted themselves on 
 occasion as decidedly as ever. 
 
 Among other notions, he had always cherished an 
 aversion to having any likeness of himself exhibited 
 to the world. In a sort of preface to " Tales- of the 
 Good Woman ", which is styled " Memoir of the un- 
 known author ", and in the edition of 1836, he pleas- 
 antly satirizes the Boswellian pattern of biography, 
 and makes merry with the natural curiosity of read- 
 ers as to the personal appearance and the handwrit- 
 ing of an author. He retained to the last this 
 disinclination to being paraded before the public in 
 a "counterfeit presentment"; and, during his life, 
 none was ever given in any of his works, or other- 
 wise. The drawing in water-colors from which the 
 engraving prefixed to the present volume was derived 
 was done by Joseph Wood, an American artist of 
 great facility of hand. Mr. Paulding at the time was 
 about thirty-five years of age. In later life, when 
 urged to sit for a portrait, he would artfully excuse 
 himself by saying that he never was as weU-looking 
 as at that period, and that he liked the idea of being 
 known to his descendants as a spruce young man 
 rather than as an old fellow. 
 
 Colonel J. Grant Wilson has furnished me an 
 
374 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 anecdote connected with this likeness. While pay- 
 ing a visit to Mr. Paulding in this year, 1858, he 
 noticed it hanging on the dining-room wall. " In 
 reply to my enquiry as to whether that or any other 
 portrait had been engraved, he said : ' I would never 
 consent to have any portrait engraved for the periodi- 
 cals. While I was Secretary of the Navy, the pub- 
 lisher of the Democratic Review wanted to put in 
 one of his damned, scurvy, lamp-black portraits of 
 me.'" 
 
 This is hardly above the level of gossip, and yet it 
 helps to fill out the picture of the man. Throughout 
 his life he was superior to the clap-trap of litera- 
 ture — the advertising that pretends not to be adver- 
 tisement, the mutual-admiration business, the timely 
 notice, the premonitory rumor, the awakening re- 
 view, and the various arts which have elevated many 
 into a temporary notoriety that almost looked like 
 reputation. 
 
 But to the correspondence again. 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 Hyde Pakk, Duchess County. Sept 16, 1858. 
 I returned home a few days ago, [from a visit to his son, 
 W. I. Paulding, at Coldspring], and either brought with me, 
 or caught since my return, a bad cold which obliged me to 
 keep my bed a whole day, a thing which has not happened 
 to me since I came here some fourteen years ago. This is 
 pretty well you will say. I am now on the mending hand, 
 but it is slow work. It takes an old horse a long whUe to 
 
 recover his wind. 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 
 Hyde Park, Duchess County. Oct. 16th, 1858. 
 My dear friend, 
 
 My only remaining brother — the last of eight brothers 
 and sisters except myself — left us on the morning of the 
 
NATHANIEL PAULDING. 375 
 
 12th. He died in the eighty third year of his age — being 
 two years older than myself — easily, calmly, and like a 
 Christian philosopher. The world will never know his worth, 
 but those to whom he was all his life a benefactor will cher- 
 ish his memory while they live, as one of the most upright, 
 just, and generous men that ever lived. He spent his better 
 days in saving pennies that he might give away tens of thou- 
 sands. To the world he appeared anxious to make and save 
 money ; to his friends and relatives only, he was known as 
 the most generous of men, as one who saved only to give 
 away. He might have died a millionaire, but preferred leav- 
 ing behind him hearts that will cherish his memory with 
 aiFectionate gratitude as long as they beat. He has gone 
 before, but I shall soon overtake him. I am as free from 
 infirmities as most men of my age, but there is a monitor 
 within which tells me that the old frame building will ere 
 long be without a tenant. Should you never hear from me 
 again, receive from me now the assurance of my sincere and 
 affectionate regard. True, we have never met, but our minds 
 have communed together, and I trust have become friends. 
 
 I introduce here a couple of little fables written by 
 our author many years before this period, but which 
 appear to me not out of place; the one embodying 
 that half serious half jesting philosophy of old age in 
 which we have had so many lessons throughout the 
 letters heretofore quoted, and the other conveying in a 
 few words the sum of his whole life's experience and 
 reflection. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF TIME. 
 
 The angel of time, being commissioned by the 
 Supreme Governor of the world, made proclamation 
 that he had a hundred thousand years of additional 
 life to bestow on the inhabitants of the earth. His 
 trumpet echoed far and wide, penetrating the cities, 
 
376 UTERABT UFB OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 the valleys, the mountains, and reaching the uttermost 
 extremes of the universe. The people flocked eagerly 
 from all points of the compass, to prefer their claims to 
 a portion of the beneficent gift ; but it was surprising 
 to see that the crowd consisted of the aged alone. 
 The children were enjoying their youthful sports, and 
 paid no attention to the proclamation ; the youths 
 and maidens were wandering in the labyrinths of love ; 
 and the men and women of a middle age were too much 
 engaged in the pursuits of life to think on death. 
 
 The first who preferred his petition for a few addi- 
 tional years was an old man of fourscore and upward, 
 bent almost double with age. 
 
 " Thou doubtless wishest to live a little longer for 
 the sake of thy children, and the companions of thy 
 youth ! " said the angel. 
 
 " Alas ! " cried the old man, " they are all dead." 
 
 " Thou art in possession of wealth and honors ? " 
 
 " Alas, no ! I have lost my good name, and am 
 miserably poor. Yet I wish to live tiU I am a hun- 
 dred, and enjoy life yet a Uttle longer." 
 
 The angel bestowed upon him the privilege of 
 living a hundred years, and he went on his way re- 
 joicing and trembling. 
 
 The next applicant for lengthened years was a 
 feeble old man, who was carried in a litter. When 
 he had preferred his request, the angel replied : — 
 
 " I understand. Thou art enamored of the charms 
 of woman, of the beauties of the earth, the waters, 
 and the skies, and wishest to behold them yet a few 
 years more ? " 
 
 " I am blind these ten years," said the old man. 
 
 " Thou art delighted with the music of the birds, 
 
THE ANGEL OF TIME. 377 
 
 the murmuring of the waters, the echoes of the moun- 
 tains, and all the harmonies of the universe, and 
 wishest to hear them a little longer ? " 
 
 " I am deaf, and scarcely hear the sound of thy 
 trumpet." 
 
 " Thou art fond of the delicacies of food ? " 
 
 " Alas ! my feeble health will not permit of such 
 indulgences. I have lived on milk and crusts of bread 
 these seven years past, and more. I am a miserable, 
 sickly old man." 
 
 " And still thou wishest to lengthen out thy miseries. 
 What pleasure dost thou enjoy in this life ? " 
 
 " The pleasure of living," said the old man; and 
 the angel granted him a few years more. 
 
 The third who approached the footstool of the angel 
 was a decrepit female, almost bent to the earth, and . 
 trembling with palsy. Her teeth were gone — her 
 eyes buried deep in their livid sockets — her cheek 
 hollow and fleshless — and she could hardly prefer 
 her request, for an incessant cough, which drowned 
 her voice, and almost choked her. 
 
 " I am come," said she, " to beg a score of years, 
 that I may enjoy the pleasure of seeing the cypress 
 trees I have planted over the graves of my husband, 
 my children, my grandchildren, and the rest of my 
 dear relatives, spring up and flourish before I die. I 
 am bereft of all that were near and dear to me; I 
 stand alone in the world, with no one to speak for 
 me ; I beseech thee, oh ! beneficent angel, to grant my 
 request." 
 
 " Though I grant thee lengthened days, I cannot 
 remove thy infirmities and sufferings. They will in- 
 crease upon thee," answered the angel. 
 
378 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 " I care not, since I shall know they cannot kill me 
 before my time." 
 
 " Take thy wish," said the angel, smiling; " go, and 
 be happy." 
 
 " Strange ! " cried a learned man who had come to 
 petition for a few years to complete an explanation 
 of the Apocalypse, and had witnessed the scene. 
 " Strange," cried he, curling his lip in scorn, " that the 
 most helpless and miserable of human beings should 
 still covet a life divested of all its enjoyments ! " 
 
 " Silence, fool ! " replied the angel in a voice of in- 
 effable contempt ; " it rather becomes thee, ignorant 
 mortal, to adore the goodness of Providence, which, 
 having ordained that men should live to be old, 
 mercifully decreed at the same time that the love of 
 life should supply the absence of all its sources of 
 enjoyment. Go ! take thy wish, and finish thy com- 
 mentary on the Apocalypse." 
 
 WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 One day the Calif Almansor, one of the vainest 
 and most learned of all the descendents of the Prophet, 
 was conversing familiarly with the great poet FazeUi, 
 with whom he delighted to unbend from the cares of 
 his empire. " Thou thinkest," said he to Fazelli, " that 
 I am not wiser than my fathers. Why is it so ? 
 Doth not every succeeding generation add to the 
 wisdom of that which preceded it ? " 
 
 " Dost thou think thyself wiser than the Prophet? ", 
 answered the poet, bowing his head reverentially. 
 " Assuredly not," answered the Calif. " Dost thou 
 think thyself wiser than Solomon ? ," asked the poet, 
 bowing still lower. " Assuredly not ", again responded 
 
WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE. 379 
 
 the Calif. "Dost thou think thyself wiser than 
 Moses, who communed with Allah himself?", a 
 third time asked the poet, bowing to the ground. 
 Almansor was for a moment very thoughtful, and held 
 down his head. " Assuredly not ", replied he, at 
 length ; " I were foolishly presumptuous to think so." 
 " Then how," resumed Fazelli, " canst thou prove 
 that each succeeding generation is wiser than another 
 that is past ? " 
 
 " The aggregate of knowledge is certainly in- 
 creased ", replied the Calif. 
 
 " True, oh my king ", rejoined Fazelli ; " but know- 
 ledge is not wisdom. Wisdom points out the road to 
 happiness and virtue ; knowledge is only an acquaint- 
 ance with a mass of facts, which are not necessarily 
 connected with either wisdom, virtue, or happiness, 
 the only objects worthy the pursuit of a wise man. 
 The knowledge of things has certainly increased ; 
 but, oh Commander of the Faithful !, remember that 
 wisdom is always the same ; as much so as the great 
 Power by whom it is dispensed. Thou mayest per- 
 haps, know more of the moon, the stars, the earth, and 
 the seas, than thy father ; but of thy organization, thy 
 soul, thy passions, appetites, the power to direct them, 
 and the Being who bestowed them upon thee, thou 
 knowest no more than the meanest of thy father's 
 slaves." 
 
 " Thou sayest true ", answered the Calif, bowing 
 his head reverently — " Allah teach me humility." 
 
 " Great King," said Fazelli, " lament not thine 
 ignorance. Every thing we cannot comprehend fur- 
 nishes proof of the existence of a Being wiser than 
 oturselves." 
 
XXVI. 
 
 1859-April 6, 1860. [JEt. 81-81 yr. 7 mo. 15 days.] 
 
 FAILING HEALTH — LETTER TO W. I. PAULDING — PEESON AND CHAIl- 
 
 ACTER OF JAMES K. PAULDING LITEBAKY CHARACTERISTICS THE 
 
 poet's last strain — THE LAST LETTER — DEATH. 
 
 In the year 1859 Mr. Paulding's health began to 
 fail decidedly. To this he alludes in a letter to W. I. 
 Paulding, in answer to one offering to send him some 
 fresh water, from Saratoga. 
 
 Hyde Park. Augt. 19th. 
 I am pretty much as when you saw me, and am never free 
 from pain, day or night. My disease I fancy is pretty much 
 old age, which no wafers can cure, except the Fountain of 
 Youth in Florida. I think it best therefore to tamper with 
 myself as little as possible, and let Nature do what little she 
 
 can 
 
 There is a great clearing out at Cold Spring, and poor 
 Gouv [his son] is left alone, as it were howling in the wUdr 
 derness. 
 
 At this time Mr. Paulding was sensibly becoming 
 weaker day by day, though he still kept about the 
 house. But it was evident that his end could not be 
 very far off. 
 
 I know not that a "more appropriate opportunity 
 than this could be found to say a few words of his 
 person and character. 
 
 Mr. Paulding, as I recollect him, was a man a little 
 [380] 
 
PERSON AND CHAEACTER. 381 
 
 above the medium height, strongly built about the 
 bust and arms, but not so powerfully in the lower 
 limbs ; though, in the early sports of the Salmagundi- 
 ans, I am told he was noted as a leaper. In his youth 
 he had soft and fine black hair, but in his later years 
 was absolutely bald. His complexion was dark, and 
 his eyes of an unmixed brown. His profile w5.s more 
 striking than his full face, and might have passed, ac- 
 cording to fancy, for an old Indian chief, or an ancient 
 philosopher. This was before he allowed his beard to 
 grow, as he did for some years before his death. 
 
 His forlorn years of childhood left their impress in 
 a certain reserve of character. Like most men of that 
 stamp, he said the least on those subjects most near 
 and holy to him. His affections were strong, but 
 undemonstrative ; and his friendships few, but lasting. 
 There was not about him much of the social with the 
 ordinary run of men, or transient acquaintance. Ac- 
 cordingly, if he failed sometimes to attract immediate 
 regard in his intercourse with others, he never failed 
 to secure their permanent respect; and the sure evi- 
 dence of the sterling qualities of his character lies in 
 the fact that those who knew him the longest and the 
 best loved him the most. 
 
 Sometimes hasty, when his blood cooled he always 
 became just ; and there was no malice in his disposi- 
 tion. He was blessed with that first safeguard of a 
 public or private man, an actual horror of debt ; his 
 integrity was scrupulous ; and he held his word ever 
 sacred. 
 
 When he came across a bubble, he could not, for 
 the life of him, withhold his hand from pricking it; 
 and he had an instinctive appreciation of shams — 
 
382 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 literary, political, social, philanthropic, religious, or 
 other. 
 
 That he had strong prejudices ; many of them un- 
 fortunate, some unfounded; — cannot be denied. But 
 they were honest. Upon no question whatever where 
 it was incumbent on a man to express an opinion, did 
 he fail to give it, and that not ambiguously, whether 
 it were popular or the contrary. In this respect he 
 was strictly what may be called a positive man. 
 
 His political views, both as to the external relations 
 and internal concerns of the country, were extreme; 
 but they were the established and unquestioning con- 
 victions of his mind. His jealousy of English influ- 
 ence, and especially of any interference on her part in 
 the affairs of this continent, was almost morbid : and in 
 regard to domestic policy he based his opinions on the 
 ultra doctrine of State Rights, to which he inflexibly 
 adhered. 
 
 Did any man's conduct or professed principles strike 
 him as dangerous to our institutions, he detested him 
 without measure. In whatever affected the interest, 
 or, (and that more especially), the honor of the nation, 
 he was profoundly interested. Careless of self, his 
 anxiety was ever for what he deemed his country's 
 good ; and long after he ceased to labor for reputation 
 or money, he labored for his idea of utility. 
 
 Every office that he held during his life was unso- 
 licited on his part; and he was in his official character 
 inaccessible to any corrupt influence. As the head 
 of a Department of the Government he was impartial 
 and efficient ; at the same time, it is believed that he 
 was as popular among his subordinates as any man 
 could be who set out with, and enforced, the idea, 
 
CHARACTER OF J. K. PAULDING. 383 
 
 that to be secretary, was to be also commander, of 
 the Navy ; while with Congress he dealt in very inde- 
 pendent and uncommon sort : — stubbornly resisting 
 any and every attempted encroachment on his proper 
 executive functions. 
 
 Take him by and large, he was a man in every 
 relation of life sound, healthful, directed by a lofty 
 sense of honor and of honesty ; with failings, doubt- 
 less, yet for the most part doing to the best of his abil- 
 ity the work it became his duty to do. 
 
 But it is as a literary man after all, and if at all, 
 that James K. Paulding will hereafter engage the at- 
 tention of others ; and it appears to me that when the 
 future historian of a perfected and passed-away Amer- 
 ican Literature sets about his task, he will never be 
 able to ignore this strong piece of foundation in the 
 temple whose glory he would illustrate. 
 
 Desultory reading he indulged in extensively, but 
 never bound himself down to regular study. In youth 
 he was almost dreamy; and throughout life more a 
 man of speculation than of action. Hence the pen 
 was his chosen instrument of industry. The influence 
 he has exerted, and left the impress of, upon Ameri- 
 can sentiment and American literature, is very inade- 
 quately represented by the present volume and those 
 which are to succeed it. For he was a pioneer ; and 
 it was of the very essence of a career such as his that 
 much of his time and labor should be spent upon 
 themes of a merely temporary interest. 
 
 The characteristics of his style Mr. Irving happily 
 touched in a letter to Brevoort, when he wrote of " his 
 usual stamp of originality, his vein of curious and 
 beautiful thought, his turns of picturesque language, 
 
384 LITERARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 mingled with the faults that arise from hasty and neg- 
 ligent composition." In fact he looked at every thing 
 for himself; his fancy or reflection worked itself out 
 through peculiar channels ; and he evinced a remarka- 
 ble faculty of bringing before the mind's eye an entire 
 picture, or firing a complete train of association, by 
 a few words and sometimes by a single expression : 
 while his carelessness or indolence in composition 
 debarred him from attaining that eminence which a 
 more laborious method had perhaps assured. 
 
 As for the spirit of his writings, it is thoroughly 
 American, and therefore almost necessarily, in view 
 of the time in which he wrote, Anti-British. He ex- 
 hibits, more distinctly than any of his cotemporaries, 
 that protest and struggle against an intellectual thral- 
 dom to the mother country which were the first steps 
 toward future excellence at home. What Cooper 
 tended to accomplish by competing, and that not 
 feebly, with the Wizard of the North himself, in ihe 
 delineation of types of national character; what Irv- 
 ing, by demonstrating that it was possible to be born 
 on this side of the water and yet be a master of style ; 
 he essayed to bring about in right man-at-arms fash- 
 ion, by direct assault. How much of the rescue from 
 this foreign tyranny is due to him individually, and 
 how much to natural causes operating on the grand 
 scale, need not now be considered. Suffice to say, 
 that, in a contest, success in which he deemed essen- 
 tial to the character of his country, he did what he 
 could and as he could. 
 
 Whatever his merits, they were indigenous. In 
 particular, all the phases of American scenery and 
 season are illustrated with a delicacy and freshness 
 
LOVE OF NATTJBE. 385 
 
 of feeling almost without a parallel. Indeed, for one 
 quality I do not know where he is to be matched. 
 Not only the outward features of Nature stand forth 
 in his picturing, but, as one may say, her very soul 
 breathes in his language. Engaged as he was through- 
 out the larger portion of his years, in the dull routine 
 of official business, or the cheerless work of volunteer 
 newspaper service in the dissemination of his political 
 ideas, the strongest instinct of his personality was a 
 simple and hearty delight in this beautiful material 
 world. From the midst of rural life he sprung, and 
 to the retirement of the country he thankfully betook 
 himself in the evening of his life, when the heat and 
 burden of the day had been faithfully borne. Thus it 
 comes about that the greatest charm of his writings 
 is this unaffected loyalty to Nature which carries us 
 back to the Spring of English Literature. Whether 
 it were the softness of a summer dawn, or the wild 
 terror of a storm ; the ruggedness of a mountain 
 gorge, or the lily-dotted meadow into which it de- 
 clined; his observation was wonderfully acute, and 
 even more sympathetic. For it was not merely the 
 visible characteristics of the earth that he caught, and 
 fixed in words. It is not only that his sketches of scen- 
 ery are graphic, but that they are imbued with a sen- 
 timent ; that reflection is interwoven with description, 
 and description interpenetrated with thought, in such 
 harmonious blending that the one can scarcely be sep- 
 arated from the other. They are renderings of Na- 
 ture as affected by and affecting the moods of the 
 observer. She is translated into the language of hu- 
 manity. We have the goddess and man in one 
 
 accord. 
 
 25 
 
386 LITERARY LIFE OF J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Perhaps it was not for his editor to say this ; but 
 let him be pardoned though he insists upon it. Mixed 
 up as was James K. Paulding with political or social 
 controversies for the greater part of his Ufe, the most 
 essential element of his character was a deep and 
 almost reverent love of Nature. With this his whole 
 being was animated. His first literary effort, just 
 sixty years before the period to which we have 
 arrived, was, as we have seen, dedicated to her ser- 
 vice, and the last known attempt of his muse em- 
 bodied a lament that her beauties and her pleasures 
 were no more for his sight or his enjoyment upon 
 earth. 
 
 This was probably written in the autumn of 1859. 
 The handwriting, for the first time, is decidedly feeble, 
 and somewhat tremulous. 
 
 THE POET'S LAST STRAIN. 
 
 So sings the gray-haired bard his dying strain ; 
 On earth he never will be heard again. 
 His fingers tremble as he sweeps the lyre, 
 And the chill damps of age have quenched his fire ; 
 The starry hosts of Heaven fade away, 
 The sun grows dim, 'tis twilight all the day ; 
 Nature is bed-rid, and no more displays 
 Fresh beauties to his weak, bewildered, gaze ; 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn, all the same appear ; 
 With him 'tis Winter through the livelong year. 
 He scarce can hear the warbler forest-free 
 Trilling his merry song from the old tree 
 Whose weather-beaten bark and leafless limb 
 Seem types of Death, aye whispering to him 
 A dreary warning, and mysterious call 
 To that long home, the biding place of all. 
 Yet may we hope that though his voice be still 
 For ever by the woodland and the rill. 
 
DYING. 387 
 
 Perchance it may be heard In Heavenly choir, 
 Quickened anew by an ethereal fire, 
 Hymning high anthems at the awful throne 
 Of Him who rules the Universe, alone. 
 
 And here is the last letter his hand ever traced — a 
 kindly closing to the unreserved correspondence be- 
 tween him and his friend Sims. The writing is still 
 more enfeebled, and irregular, 
 
 TO J. S. SIMS. 
 
 Hyde Pakk. Jany. 8th, 1860. 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 I was gratified at the receipt of your letter, and learning 
 that yourself and family were in got)d health. But I fear I 
 cannot reply at length, as I have laid aside my pen entirely 
 for almost a year past, except on indispensable occasions. 
 Writing is both physically and intellectually irksome, and in- 
 deed difficult, to me. But I shall be happy to hear from you, 
 and you may be assured that I shall always retain a deep 
 interest in your happiness and that of your family, however 
 I may fail in writing. Remember me to them all. 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 J. K. Paulding. 
 
 I may observe here, now that he has for the last 
 time spoken for himself, that there is one thing at least 
 for which we should thank this man. Exerting for a 
 time, and that time critical, a powerful influence on 
 the rising literature of his country; writing much, 
 often anonymously, and almost always in careless 
 freedom ; one merit he had, and that not a mean one. 
 He resisted always, to the best of his ability, the en- 
 croaching spirit of licentiousness in letters. Though 
 without the slightest affectation of Puritanism, the 
 drift of all that he has written is pure ; and though 
 
388 LITEEARY LIFE OP J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 even his pen sometimes, (but not often), has strayed 
 beyond the bounds of decorum in language, yet the 
 scope of his works, (when viewed in the large way, 
 as these things should be), is eminently healthy and 
 wholesome. 
 
 And now the last scene approaches. A strong con- 
 stitution broke up with difficulty, but under the 
 pressure of no specific disease. He declined to con- 
 sult any physician, simply asserting that the machinery 
 of life was worn out, and that tinkering at it were 
 worse than useless. His oft-recurring prayer was but 
 half answered. He drifted onward indeed to his ex- 
 pected death without fear, but not without much pain. 
 His intellect was preserved even after the power of 
 speech, had, through weakness, left him; for, with 
 a dear friend who found him incapable of words he 
 attempted to communicate, by tracing letters upon 
 the palm of one hand with the fore-finger of the other. 
 A very few hours after this, he passed away. 
 
 At Hyde Park, on the evening of the sixth of 
 April, 1860, having endured nigh on to twelve years 
 beyond the allotted three score and ten, James Kirke 
 Paulding was added to the innumerable multitudes 
 who have gone where there is no work for men to 
 recognize any more. 
 
 But, inasmuch as he had in his life belonged to the 
 great guild of Literature, he shares in that recurring 
 miracle whereby it comes to pass that a man, though 
 dead, yet speaketh. Though the cunning of the hand 
 be passed away forever ; though the heart be stilled, 
 never to beat again ; and though even the presiding 
 brain have lost its common hold on daily life ; such a 
 man can still appeal palpably to his fellow men, and 
 
EEQUIESCAT IN PACE. 389 
 
 maintain and pass on a mysterious influence into un- 
 known depths of time. 
 
 Circumstances, during many of the latter years of 
 his life, kept his reputation in abeyance ; and he ex- 
 hibited the not-uncommon spectacle of a man who 
 has outlived his own fame. His son and editor, con- 
 vinced that there is essential merit, (as certainly there 
 is marked individuality), in much that he has written, 
 puts forth the present and forthcoming re-publication, 
 in the hope and persuasion that it will be interesting 
 to a new generation of his countrymen; and that 
 there is some matter withal, which rings so true to 
 Nature and the human heart, that the Literature of 
 the English tongue will not readily suffer it to pass 
 into oblivion. 
 
INDEX. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 J. K. PAULDING. 
 
 Paob 
 
 1778. August 22. Birth 15 
 
 1778-1797. Early days 23-28 
 
 1797. Removal to New York 29 
 
 Friends of his youth 35-37 
 
 1816 — April 28 ; to Nov. 8, 1823. Secretary of the Nav 
 
 Board 69 
 
 1818. Nov. 15. Marriage 116 
 
 1824 — January 8 ; to June 25, 1838. Navy Agent at New 
 
 York 182 
 
 1838— June 25; to March 4, 1841. Secretary of the Navy 270 
 
 1841. Eeturn to New York . . , 284 
 
 1845. October. Retirement to Hyde Park 299 
 
 1860. April 6. Death 388 
 
 FRAGMENTS OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 
 
 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 29, 30, 38, 42, 69, 82, 121, 153, 
 283, 359, 360, 361. 
 
 PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 1807. Jan. 24. Salmagundi. 1st series, 1st No. ... 38 
 
 1812. The Diverting History of John Bull and Brother 
 
 Jonathan 45 
 
 1813. The Lay of the Scottish Fiddle 45 
 
 1815. The United States and England 68 
 
 1817. Letters from the South 78 
 
 [393] 
 
394 INDEX. 
 
 Paob 
 
 1818. The Backwoodsman 93 
 
 1819-1820. Salmagundi. 2d series 116 
 
 1822. A Sketch of Old England, by a New England Man 156 
 
 1823. Koningsmarke, the Long Finne 163 
 
 1825. John Bull in America ; or, The New Munchausen . 183 
 
 1826. The Merry Tales of the Three Wise Men of Gotham 191 
 
 1828. The New Mirror for Travellers 216 
 
 1829. Tales of the Good Woman 217 
 
 1830. Chronicles of the City of Gotham 217 
 
 1831. The Lion of the West. (Drama produced) ... 218 
 
 1831. The Dutchman's Fireside 221 
 
 1832. Westward Ho! 221 
 
 1835. A Life of Washington 244 
 
 1836. Slavery in the United States 262 
 
 1837. The Book of Saint Nicholas 263 
 
 1838. A Gift from Fairy Land 272 
 
 1846. The Old Continental ; or. The Price of Liberty . . 300 
 
 1847. American Comedies » . . . . 310 
 
 1849. The Puritan and his Daughter 314 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 From J. K. Pauibing. 
 
 To Washington Irving ... 33, 39, 40, 45, 68, 70, 71, 78, 93, 
 95, 96, 117, 118, 119, 165, 183, 184, 185, 220, 234, 236, 262, 
 
 271, 272, 282, 283, 865 
 To Henry Brevoort, Jr. 71, 72, 73, 76, 235, 236, 273, 274, 275 
 To Gouverneur Kemble . . .82, 268, 270, 271, 274, 275, 277, 
 
 278, 281, 283, 311, 349, 370 
 
 To Margarette T. Kemble 286 
 
 To W. I. Paulding 299, 350, 364, 380 
 
 To W.Wilson 313 
 
 To T. Cadwallader 348, 351 
 
 To Miss E. P 350, 362, 364, 367 
 
 To J. S. Sims 361, 362, 363, 371, 372, 374, 387 
 
 To I. G. Pearson 370 
 
INDEX. 395 
 
 To J. K. Paulding. 
 
 FAan 
 
 From Washington Irving 120, 366 
 
 From David Crockett 218 
 
 From Horatio Greenough 273 
 
 From Martin Van Buren 285, 309, 310 
 
 SKETCHES OF NATUKE. 
 Prose. 
 
 The Fortunate Isle 34 . 
 
 The Caphon Rock 91 
 
 The Mississippi 290 
 
 The Prairie 294 
 
 Poetic. 
 
 Dawn in the Highlands of the Hudson 31 
 
 The Summer Mom 43 
 
 A Sunrise 49 
 
 A Sunset 61 
 
 A Highland Scene 104 
 
 Daybreak in the AUeghanies 106 
 
 Night on the Ohio 108 
 
 Autumn and Winter 108 
 
 SKETCHES OF PUBLIC CHARACTERS. 
 
 James Madison 74 
 
 Benjamin Franklin 155 
 
 John Randolph 237 
 
 Washington 258 
 
 John Forsyth 276 
 
 Andrew Jackson 287 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 Prose. 
 
 The Idea of a True Patriot 56 
 
 A Rustic Funeral 79 
 
396 INDEX. 
 
 Paob 
 
 The Shinplaster Djrnasty 83 
 
 Character of Brpther Jonathan 90 
 
 A Warning to Biographers 122 
 
 The Churchyard 125 
 
 An Eccentric Sage 132 
 
 The Royal, and the Presidential, Household 167 
 
 Governor Piper in Judgment 166 
 
 Introductory Dissertation — The Wise Men of Gotham . . 191 
 
 Panegyric on the Common Law 211 
 
 Death of Dr. Gallgotha 213 
 
 The Horse-race 222 
 
 The Frenchman's View of Self-government 232 
 
 A Legend of the Bird's Nest 246 
 
 The Tomb of Washington 253 
 
 The Wooing of Saint Nicholas 263 
 
 In Praise of the Spinning-wheel 296 
 
 The Quaker Wife's Appeal 306 
 
 The Parting Lovers 307 
 
 Dedication of the Puritan and his Daughter 314 
 
 Morsels of Wisdom. 319 
 
 Eulogium on the Divine Tobacco Pipe 323 
 
 The Wild Man in the Wild Woods 325 
 
 Blood-pudding Literature 328 
 
 Captain Abiel Skeering 331 
 
 Excommunication of the Demon of Water Power .... 333 
 
 An Old Author's Parting Advice to his Readers .... 334 
 
 The American People 338 
 
 Almoran the Wise 352 
 
 The Angel of Time 375 
 
 Wisdom and Knowledge 378 
 
 POETKY. 
 
 The Ruins of the Capitol 69 
 
 Spring 101 
 
 The National Destiny 107 
 
 The Indian Prophet 110 
 
 The People 113 
 
 Apostrophe to Freedom 115 
 
INDEX. 397 
 
 Paqb 
 
 Anadostan 186 
 
 Lost! ' 189 
 
 The Old Man's Carousal 216 
 
 The Old Man's Blessings 356 
 
 The Flight of Time 363 
 
 The Desolate Old Man 372 
 
 The Poet's Last Strain 386 
 
 SUNDRIES. 
 
 David Myerle 279 
 
 The Story of an Autograph 364 
 
 The Portrait Engraved 373 
 
 Person and Character of J. K. Paulding 380 
 
 THE END. 
 
 OAMBBIDeS: PEESS 01' JOHH WILSOH AHD SOU. 
 
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