from the quiet dress of New England.

"In fine, it is commonly said in the provinces that a New Yorker can be
recognized anywhere, with his wife, by their modish costumes, their easy
manners and their willingness to spend money--two, three and even five
cents being paid for the smallest service."

"Dear me," I thought, as I paused a moment in my reading, "so they had
begun it even then."

"The whole spirit of the place"--the account continued--"has recently
been admirably embodied in literary form by an American writer, Mr.
Washington Irving (not to be confounded with George Washington). His
creation of Father Knickerbocker is so lifelike that it may be said to
embody the very spirit of New York. The accompanying woodcut--which
was drawn on wood especially for this periodical--recalls at once the
delightful figure of Father Knickerbocker. The New Yorkers of to-day
are accustomed, indeed, to laugh at Mr. Irving's fancy and to say that
Knickerbocker belongs to a day long since past. Yet those who know tell
us that the image of the amiable old gentleman, kindly but irascible,
generous and yet frugal, loving his town and seeing little beyond it,
may be held once and for all to typify the spirit of the place, without
reference to any particular time or generation."

"Father Knickerbocker!" I murmured, as I felt myself dozing off to
sleep, rocked by the motion of the car. "Father Knickerbocker, how
strange if he could be here again and see the great city as we know it
now! How different from his day! How I should love to go round New York
and show it to him as it is."

So I mused and dozed till the very rumble of the wheels seemed to
piece together in little snatches. "Father Knickerbocker--Father
Knickerbocker--the Battery--the Battery--citizens walking with their
wives, with their wives--their own wives"--until presently, I imagine, I
must have fallen asleep altogether and knew no more till my journey was
over and I found myself among the roar and bustle of the concourse of
the Grand Central.

And there, lo and behold, waiting to meet me, was Father Knickerbocker
himself! I know not how it happened, by what queer freak of
hallucination or by what actual miracle--let those explain it who deal
in such things--but there he stood before me, with an outstretched hand
and a smile of greeting, Father Knickerbocker himself, the Embodied
Spirit of New York.

"How strange," I said. "I was just reading about you in a book on t