after dictating several kind messages, to his
relations at Scaghtikoke, as well as to certain of our most substantial
Dutch citizens, he expired in the arms of his friend the librarian.

His remains were interred, according to his own request, in St. Mark's
Churchyard, close by the bones of his favorite hero, Peter Stuyvesant; and
it is rumored that the Historical Society have it in mind to erect a
wooden monument to his memory in the Bowling Green.

TO THE PUBLIC.

"To rescue from oblivion the memory of former incidents, and to render a
just tribute of renown to the many great and wonderful transactions of our
Dutch progenitors, Diedrich Knickerbocker, native of the city of New York,
produces this historical essay."[1] Like the great Father of History,
whose words I have just quoted, I treat of times long past, over which the
twilight of uncertainty had already thrown its shadows, and the night of
forgetfulness was about to descend for ever. With great solicitude had I
long beheld the early history of this venerable and ancient city gradually
slipping from our grasp, trembling on the lips of narrative old age, and
day by day dropping piecemeal into the tomb. In a little while, thought I,
and those revered Dutch burghers, who serve as the tottering monuments of
good old times, will be gathered to their fathers; their children,
engrossed by the empty pleasures or insignificant transactions of the
present age, will neglect to treasure up the recollections of the past,
and posterity will search in vain for memorials of the days of the
Patriarchs. The origin of our city will be buried in eternal oblivion, and
even the names and achievements of Wouter Van Twiller, William Kieft, and
Peter Stuyvesant be enveloped in doubt and fiction, like those of Romulus
and Remus, of Charlemagne, King Arthur, Rinaldo, and Godfrey of Boulogne.

Determined, therefore, to avert if possible this threatened misfortune, I
industriously set myself to work to gather together all the fragments of
our ancient history which still existed; and, like my revered prototype,
Herodotus, where no written records could be found, I have endeavored to
continue the chain of history by well-authenticated traditions.

In this arduous undertaking, which has been the whole business of a long
and solitary life, it is incredible the number of learned authors I have
consulted, and all to but little purpose. Strange as it may seem, though
such multitudes o