or
Wouter Van Twiller's only daughter.

You must read for yourselves the famous story of Rip Van Winkle and the
nap he took. It is too long for me to give in Irving's words, and "Rip
Van Winkle" is just such a story as no one but Irving knows how to
tell.

In another of his interesting stories in the "Sketch Book," told, he
says, by a queer old traveler to as queer a company gathered in a great
inn-kitchen, Irving describes the busy making-ready for a wedding. The
bride's father, he says, "had in truth nothing exactly to do."

Do you suppose he was content to do nothing "when all the world was in
a hurry?"

This is the way in which he helped: "He worried from top to bottom of
the castle with an air of infinite anxiety; he continually called the
servants from their work to exhort them to be diligent, and buzzed
about every hall and chamber as idly restless and importunate as a
blue-bottle fly on a warm summer's day." The book of Irving's that some
of you will like best of all is "The Alhambra." The Alhambra is the
ancient and romantic palace of the Moors. When he was in Spain, Irving
spent many dreamy days amid its ruined splendors, whence the last of
the Moors was long since driven into exile. We have good reason to be
glad that Irving saw the Alhambra, for this book is what came of it. We
shall all want to go where Irving went, after reading what he says of
the Alhambra by moonlight. "The garden beneath my window is gently
lighted up, the orange and citron trees are tipped with silver, the
fountain sparkles in the moonbeams, and even the blush of the rose is
faintly visible. * * * The whole edifice reminds one of the enchanted
palace of an Arabian tale."

These, you know, are only crumbs, and crumbs which show Irving's "warm
heart" more, perhaps, than his "fine brain."

To learn of his literary talent and well-deserved fame, of his rich
fancy and his wonderful ability for story-telling, you can better
afford to wait than to miss knowing how healthy, happy, and truly
lovable was this man's nature. Now, with only one of the many sober,
earnest thoughts, we must lay aside his books.

"If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a
furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a
friend and hast ever wronged in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit
that generously confided in thee, then be sure that every unkind look,
every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come