r where, I have met with
a grotesque shadow, under a fictitious name,--a sort of Santa Claus or
AEsop at large,--either in the "Sketch-Book" or in the "Tales of a
Traveller," which I saw at a glance, when I came to know the original,
could be no other than Peter Powell himself.

But as Irving did not particularize, I must. Peter would personate a
dancing bear; and with the help of a shaggy overcoat pulled up about his
ears, and a pair of black kid gloves, he being a small man, hardly
taller than a good-sized bear, when standing up with his knees bent, the
representation was not only surprisingly faithful, but sometimes
absolutely startling.

He would serve you out with passages from a new opera, taking all the
parts himself, either separately or together, and with feet, hands, and
voice, a table, a chair, and a paper trumpet extemporized for the
occasion from a sheet of music-paper, would almost persuade you that a
rehearsal was going on at your elbow.

He would tie a couple of knots in his pocket-handkerchief, throw the
rest of it over his hand so as to conceal the action, thrust his left
forefinger into the lowest knot for a head, while the uppermost would go
for a turban, spread out the middle finger and thumb, covered with the
drapery, and make the figure bow and salaam, as if it were alive, to the
unspeakable amazement of the little ones. Many years after this, I tried
the same trick with the Aztec children, and drove the little monsters
half crazy with delight.

He would imitate rooks in their noisiest flights, by putting on a pair
of black gloves, and spreading the fingers, and cawing; and butterflies
alighting on a flower, by pressing his two hands together where they
join the wrist, closing the fingers with a fluttering motion, and moving
them this way and that, until it was quite impossible to misunderstand
the representation; and he would give you a sailor's hornpipe at the
dinner-table, by striping two of his fingers with a pen, drawing a face
on the back of his hand, with vest and waistband to explain the
trousers, and set you screaming as he went through the steps and
flourishes on a plate, with the greatest possible seriousness and
propriety.

But enough. Let us now return to Blackwood. For my next paper he paid me
ten guineas,--fifty dollars,--and, in reply to certain suggestions of
mine, wrote as follows. I give this letter to show how much of a
business man he was, and how well fitted for the dut