us to change our travelling dresses, but ushered us at once to the company, which was assembled in a large old-fashioned hall. It was composed of different branches of a numerous family connexion, where there were the usual proportion of old uncles and aunts, comfortable married dames, superannuated spinsters, blooming country cousins, half-fledged striplings, and bright-eyed boarding school hoydens. They were variously occupied ; some at a round game of cards; others conversing around the fire-place; at one end of the hall was a group of the young folks, some nearly grown up, others of a more tender and budding age, fully engrossed by a merry game; and a profusion of wooden horses, penny trumpets, and tattered dolls about the floor, showed traces of a troop of little fairy beings, who having frolicked through a happy day, had been carried off to slumber through a peaceful night.

MASTER SIMON.

THE mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the humours of an eccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge always addressed with the quaint appellation of Master Simon. He was a tight brisk little man, with the air of an arrant old bachelor. His nose was shaped like the bill of a parrot; his face slightly pitted with the small pox, with a dry perpetual bloom on it, like a frost-bitten leaf in autumn. He had an eye of great quickness and vivacity, with a drollery and lurking waggery of expres sion that was irresistible. He was evidently the wit of the family, dealing very much in sly jokes and innuendoes with the ladies, and making infinite merriment by harpings upon old themes; which, unfortunately, my ignorance of the family chronicles did not permit me to enjoy. It seemed to be his great delight during supper to keep a young girl next him in a continual agony of stifled laughter, in spite of her awe of the reproving looks of her mother, who sat opposite. Indeed, he was the idol of the younger part of the company, who laughed at every thing he said or did, and at every turn of his countenance. I could not wonder at it; for he must have been a miracle of accomplishments in their eyes. He could imitate Punch and Judy; make an old woman of

his hand, with the assistance of a burnt cork and pocket handkerchief: and cut an orange into such a ludicrous caricature, that the young folks were ready to die with laughing.

PERSEVERANCE.

LIKE as a mighty grampus, who, though assailed and buffeted by roaring waves and brawling surges, still keeps on an undeviating course; and though overwhelmed by boisterous billows, still emerges from the troubled deep, spouting and blowing with tenfold violence-so did the inflexible Peter pursue, unwavering, his determined career, and rise contemptuous above the clamours of the rabble.

A DOLEFUL DISASTER OF ANTHONY

THE TRUMPETER.

RESOLUTELY bent, however, upon defending his beloved city, in despite even of itself, he called unto him his trusty Van Corlear, who was his right-hand man in all times of emergency. Him did he adjure to take his war-denouncing trumpet, and mounting his horse, to beat up the country, night and day-sounding the alarm along the pastoral borders of the Bronx-startling the wild solitudes of Croton-arousing the rugged yeomanry of Weehawk and Hoboken-the mighty men of battle of Tappan Bay*;—and the brave boys of Tarry town and Sleepy hollow-together with all the other warriors of the country round about; charging them one and all, to sling their powder horns, shoulder their fowling-pieces, and march merrily down to the Manhattoes.

Now there was nothing in all the world, the divine sex excepted, that Anthony Van Corlear loved better than errands of this kind. So, just stopping to take a lusty

*A corruption of Top paun; so called from a tribe of Indians. which boasted of 150 fighting men. See Ogilvie's History.

dinner, and bracing to his side his junk-bottle, well charged with heart-inspiring Hollands, he issued jollily from the city gate that looked out upon what is at present called Broad-way; sounding as usual a farewell strain, that rung in sprightly echoes through the winding streets of New-Amsterdam-Alas! never more were they to be gladdened by the melody of their favourite trumpeter!

It was a dark and stormy night when the good Anthony arrived at the famous creek (sagely denominated Harlem river) which separates the island of Manna-hata from the main land. The wind was high, the elements were in an uproar, and no Charon could be found to ferry the adventurous sounder of brass across the water. For a short time he vapoured like an impatient ghost upon the brink, and then, bethinking himself of the urgency of his errand, took a hearty embrace of his stone bottle, swore most valorously, that he would swim across, en spijt den duyvel (in spite of the devil!) and daringly plunged into the stream.-Luckless Anthony! scarce had he buffeted half-way over, when he was observed to struggle violently, as if battling with the spirit of the waters-instinctively he put his trumpet to his mouth, and giving a vehement blast, sunk for ever to the bottom!

The potent clangour of his trumpet, like the ivory horn of the renowned Paladin Orlando, when expiring in the glorious field of Roncesvalles, rung far and wide through the country, alarming the neighbours round, who hurried in amazement to the spot. Here an old Dutch burgher, famed for his veracity, and who had been a witness of the fact, related to them the melancholy affair; with the fearful addition (to which I am slow of giving belief,) that he saw the duyvel, in the shape of a huge moss-bonker, seize the sturdy Anthony by the leg, and drag him beneath the waves. Certain it is, the place, with the adjoining promontory, which projects into the Hudson, has been called Spijt den duyvel or Spiking duyvel ever since, -the restless ghost of the unfortunate Anthony still haunts the surrounding solitudes, and his trumpet has often been heard by the neighbours, of a stormy night, mingling with the howling of the blast. Nobody ever attempts to swim over the creck after dark; on the contrary, a bridge has been built to guard against such melancholy accidents in future-and as to moss-bonkers, they are held in such abhorrence that no true Dutchman

will admit them to his table, who loves good fish, and hates the devil.

Such was the end of Anthony Van Corlear-a man deserving of a better fate. He lived roundly and soundly, like a true and jolly bachelor, until the day of his death; but though he was never married, yet did he leave behind, some two or three dozen children, in different parts of the country-fine chubby, brawling flatulent little urchins, from whom, if legends speak true (and they are not apt to lie,) did descend the innumerable race of editors, who people and defend this country, and who are bountifully paid by the people for keeping up a constant alarm—and making them miserable. Would that they inherited the worth, as they do the wind, of their re nowned progenitor!

The Grief of Peter Stuyvesant.

THE tidings of this lamentable catastrophe imparted a severer pang to the bosom of Peter Stuyvesant than did even the invasion of his beloved Amsterdam. It came ruthlessly home to those sweet affections that grow close around the heart, and are nourished by its warmest current. As some lone pilgrim wandering in trackless wastes while the tempest whistles through his locks, and dreary night is gathering around, sees stretched, cold and lifeless, his faithful dog-the sole companion of his journeying-who had shared his solitary meal, and so often licked his hand in humble gratitude;-so did the gener ous-hearted hero of the Manhattoes contemplate the untimely end of his faithful Anthony. He had been the humble attendant of his footsteps he had cheered him in many a heavy hour, by his honest gaiety; and had followed him in loyalty and affection, through many a scene of direful peril and mishap. He was gone for ever -and that too at a moment when every mongrel cur seemed skulking from his side.

The dignified Retirement and mortal Surrender of Peter the Headstrong.

THUS then have I concluded this great historical enterprise; but, before I lay aside my weary pen, there yct

remains to be performed one pious duty. If among the variety of readers that may peruse this book, there should haply be found any of those souls of true nobility, which glow with celestial fire, at the history of the generous and the brave, they will doubtless be anxious to know the fate of the gallant Peter Stuyvesant. To gratify one such sterling heart of gold I would go more lengths than to instruct the cold-blooded curiosity of a whole fraternity of philosophers.

No sooner had that high-mettled cavalier signed the articles of capitulation, than, determined not to witness the humiliation of his favourite city, he turned his back on its walls, and made a growling retreat to his Bouwery, or country-seat, which was situated about two miles off; where he passed the remainder of his days in patriarchal retirement. There he enjoyed that tranquillity of mind which he had never known amid the distracting cares of government; and tasted the sweets of absolute and uncontrolled authority, which his factious subjects had so often dashed with the bitterness of opposition.

No persuasions could ever induce him to revisit the city -on the contrary, he would always have his great armchair placed with its back to the windows which looked in that direction; until a thick grove of trees planted by his own hand grew up and formed a screen that effectually excluded it from the prospect. He railed continually at the degenerate innovations and improvements introduced by the conquerors-forbade a word of their detested language to be spoken in his family, a prohibition readily obeyed, since none of the household could speak any thing but Dutch-and even ordered a fine avenue to be cut down in front of his house, because it consisted of English cherry

trees.

The same incessant vigilance, that blazed forth when he had a vast province under his care, now showed itself with equal vigour, though in narrower limits. He patrolled with unceasing watchfulness around the boundaries of his little territory; repelled every encroachment with intrepid promptness; punished every vagrant depredation upon his orchard or his farm yard with inflexible severity; and conducted every stray hog or cow in triumph to the pound. But to the indigent neighbour, the friendless stranger, or the weary wanderer, his spacious door was ever open, and his capacious fire-place, that emblem of his own warm and generous heart, had always a corner to receive and cherish