hness and vigor, that will live forever." This sounds well for
Ticknor; but it needs only a glance at Irving's recorded
correspondence to see that he was inclined to overestimate the work of
others. That kind heart must needs assume the functions of a head
which was very well able to take care of itself.

In larger matters his judgment was often colored, but seldom warped,
by feeling. The line between sentiment and common sense is clearly
drawn in his comment upon the Kossuth obsession which held New York in
1852. "I have heard and seen Kossuth both in public and private, and
he is really a noble fellow, quite the beau ideal of a poetic hero....
He is a kind of man that you would idolize. Yet, poor fellow, he has
come here under a great mistake, and is doomed to be disappointed in
the high-wrought expectations he had formed of cooperation on the part
of our government in the affairs of his unhappy country. Admiration
and sympathy he has in abundance from individuals; but there is no
romance in councils of state or deliberative assemblies. There, cool
judgment and cautious policy must restrain and regulate the warm
impulses of feeling. I trust we are never to be carried away, by the
fascinating eloquence of this second Peter the Hermit, into schemes of
foreign interference, that would rival the wild enterprises of the
Crusades." The letter concludes in a minor strain: "It is now
half-past twelve at night, and I am sitting here scribbling in my
study, long after the family are abed and asleep--a habit I have
fallen much into of late. Indeed, I never fagged more steadily with my
pen than I do at present. I have a long task in hand, which I am
anxious to finish, that I may have a little leisure in the brief
remnant of life that is left to me. However, I have a strong
presentiment that I shall die in harness; and I am content to do so,
provided I have the cheerful exercise of intellect to the last."

By this time some of his Western investments had begun to make
handsome returns. With an easy pocket, and a single congenial task for
his leisure, it seemed that Irving's last years were certain to be
peacefully rounded. Unfortunately his health did not hold; all his
former ailments came back upon him, and the "Life of Washington"
became an Old Man of the Sea, which one wishes heartily he might have
been rid of. A visit to Saratoga in the summer of 1852, and the
company of many pretty women, seemed for the moment to lift the ye