his life. The rare kindliness of the man so hallows and
sublimes his memory that we half forget his artistic power, his purity
of touch, his keenness of observation, his delightful and abounding
humor.

There are no storms in this life of his: it is, as we have said, a quiet
picture of a career that is full of honor indeed, full of triumphs, but
full of serenity. Here is no Don Quixote searching for enemies with whom
to do battle,--no John Knox thwacking terribly upon all heretical pates,
and sweating with his obstinacy, as much as with the vigor of his blows;
but the kindly gentleman, giving tone and beauty to the common sentiment
of us all, piquing our wonder by his adroitness, kindling our smiles by
his arch sallies, winning our admiration by his thousand graces, and our
respect by his honesty and truth.

In 1797, Washington Irving, a roguish lad of fifteen, living in William
Street, in New York, and not a little rebellious against the severe
orthodoxy of his father,--who was a deacon of the Presbyterian
Church,--sometimes slipped out from his chamber, after evening prayers,
for an hour or two at the theatre; he attended school, where he stole
the reading of such books as "Robinson Crusoe," and "Sinbad the Sailor";
and he wrote compositions for such of his fellows as would make good his
tasks in mathematics. This was a study which he never loved, and to the
last he abjured all stringency of method. The writer of this paper
remembers on one occasion asking him what system he pursued in massing
his notes for the "Life of Washington." "Don't ask me for system," said
he; "I never had any. If you want to know what a man can do by
arrangement, talk with B----; his whole mind is pigeon-holed."

At sixteen we find him in a lawyer's office; he does not, like some of
his brothers, enjoy the advantages (if there be any) of a collegiate
education. But he loves law as little as he loves mathematics. Feeble
health gives occasion for frequent absences and journeyings; and it is
plain to see that he loves a voyage up the Hudson, and adventurous
travel through the wilds of Northern New York, better than he loves
Judge Livingston, or the books of his law-patron, Mr. Hoffman. He has a
scribbling mood upon him at this early day, too, and contributes to the
New-York "Morning Chronicle" certain letters of Jonathan Oldstyle, which
are remarked for their pleasant humor. At the age of twenty-one (1804)
continued ill-health suggests a sea-