Alexander H. Everett, the Minister to Spain, he commenced the translation of Navarete's Voyages of Columbus, but he abandoned the mere work of translation, and wrote instead his own Life and Voyages of Columbus. In 1829 he was appointed United States Secretary of Legation at London, where he remained until 1832, when he returned to America after an absence of seventeen years.

Soon afterward he purchased a cottage on the banks of the Hudson, which he partly rebuilt, and named "Sunnyside." He himself was never married, the lady to whom he was betrothed having died more than a quarter of a century before. But Sunnyside became the home of an elder brother and his daughters. In 1842, at the instance of Daniel Webster, he was appointed by President Tyler as Minister to Spain. He resigned this post in 1846, and returned to America, where the remaining thirteen years of his life were passed. He now set himself seriously to work upon the Life of Washington, which he had had in contemplation for several years. Volumes I. and II. appeared in 1855; Vol. III. in 1856; Vol. IV. in 1857; Vol. V. in 1859.

The following is a list of the works of Irving: Salmagundi, only in part by Irving (1807); Knickerbocker's History of New York (1809); The SketchBook (1819-20); Bracebridge Hall (1822); Tales of a Traveller (1824); Life and Voyages of Columbus (1828); The Conquest of Granada (1829); Voyages of the Companions of Columbus (1831); The Alhambra (1832); A Tour on the Prairies (1835); Astoria (1836); Adventures of Captain Bonneville (1837); Oliver Goldsmith (1849); Mahomet and His Successors

VOL. XIV.-20

(1850); Wolfert's Roost, and Other Sketches, mostly written some years earlier (1855); Life of Washington (1855-59). The standard Life of Irving is that by his nephew, Pierre M. Irving, which includes his Letters (4 vols., 1862-63). Besides this is Charles Dudley Warner's Life of Irving, in "American Men of Letters" (1881).

PETER STUYVESANT AND JAN RISINGH AT THE BATTLE OF FORT CHRISTINA.

No sooner did these two rival heroes come face to face than they each made a prodigious start, such as is made by your most experienced stage champions. Then did they regard each other for a moment with bitter aspect, like two furious ram-cats on the very point of clapper-clawing. Then did they throw themselves in one attitude, then in another, striking their swords on the ground, first on the right side, then on the left; at last they went at it with incredible ferocity. Words cannot tell the prodigies of strength and valor displayed in this dreadful encounter. At length the valiant Peter, watching his opportunity, aimed a fearful blow with the full intent of cleaving his adversary to the very chin; but Risingh nimbly raising his sword, warded it off so narrowly that, glancing on one side, it shaved away a huge canteen that he always carried swung on one side; thence pursuing its trenchant course it severed off a deep coat-pocket stored with bread-and-cheese-all which dainties rolling among the armies occasioned a fearful scrambling between the Swedes and Dutchmen, and made the general battle to wax ten times more furious than ever.

Enraged to see his military stores thus wofully laid waste, the stout Risingh, collecting all his forces, aimed a mighty blow full at the hero's crest. In vain did his fierce little cocked hat oppose its course. The biting steel clove through the stubborn ram-beaver, and would infallibly have cracked his crown, but that the skull was of such adamantine hardness that the brittle weapon shivered into pieces, shedding a thousand sparks, like

beams of glory, round his grizzly visage. Stunned by the blow the valiant Peter reeled, turned up his eyes, and beheld fifty thousand suns, besides moons and stars, dancing about the firmament. At length missing his footing, by reason of his wooden leg, down he came on his seat of honor, with a crash that shook the surrounding hills, and would infallibly have wrecked his anatomical system, had he not been received into a cushion softer than velvet, which Providence, or Minerva, or St. Nicholas, or some kindly cow, had benevolently prepared for his reception.

The furious Risingh, in despite of that noble maxim cherished by all true knights, that "fair play is a jewel," hastened to take advantage of the hero's fall; but just as he was stooping to give the fatal blow, the ever vigilant Peter bestowed him a sturdy thwack over the sconce with his wooden leg, that set some dozen chimes of bells ringing triple bob-majors in his cerebellum. The bewildered Swede staggered with the blow, and in the meantime the wary Peter espying a pocket-pistol lying hard by (which had been dropped from the wallet of his faithful squire and trumpeter, Van Corlaer), discharged it full at the head of the reeling Risingh. Let not my reader mistake: it was not a murderous weapon loaded with powder and ball, but a sturdy little stone pottle, charged to the muzzle with a double dram of true Dutch courage, which the knowing Van Corlaer always carried about with him by way of replenishing his valor. The hideous missive sang through the air, and, true to its course as was the mighty fragment of a rock discharged at Hector by bully Ajax, encountered the huge head of the gigantic Swede with matchless violence. This heaven-directed blow decided the eventful battle. The ponderous pericranium of General Jan Risingh sank upon his breast; his knees tottered under him; a death-like torpor seized upon his giant frame, and he tumbled to the earth with such tremendous violence that old Pluto started with affright lest he should have broken through the roof of his infernal palace.

This fall was the signal of defeat and victory. The Swedes gave way; the Dutch pressed forward. The former took to their heels, the latter hotly pursued; some entered with them pell-mell through the sally

port; others stormed the bastion, and others scrambled over the curtain. Thus in a little while the impregnable fortress of Fort Christina, which, like another Troy, had stood a siege of fully ten hours, was finally carried by assault, without the loss of a single man on either side.

Had the inexorable Fates only allowed me some half a score of dead men, I had been content; for I would have made them such heroes as abounded in the olden time, but whose race is unfortunately now extinct-any one of whom, if we may believe those authentic writers, the poets, could drive great armies like sheep before him, and conquer and desolate whole cities by his single arm. But seeing that I had not a single life at my disposal, all that was left me was to make the most of my battle by means of kicks and cuffs, and bruises, and such-like ignoble wounds.-History of New York.

THE AWAKING OF RIP VAN WINKLE.

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found had much of the flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked another, and he reiterated his visits. to the flagon so often that at length his senses were overpowered, and he fell into a deep sleep.

On waking he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes-it was a bright, sunny morning; the birds were hopping and twittering amongst the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breathing the pure mountain-breeze. "Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep the strange man with the keg of liquor; the mountain-ravine; the wild retreat among the rocks; the woe-begone party at nine-pins; the flagon. "Oh, that wicked flagon!" thought Rip; "what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?”

He looked around for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled fowling-piece he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock

falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysterers of the mountain had put a trick upon him, and having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared --but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted hist name, but all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was to be seen.

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol-and if he met with any of the party to demand his dog and gun. As he arose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. "These mountain-beds do not agree with me," thought Rip: "and if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I should have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With some difficulty he got down into the glen. He found the gully up which he and his companion had ascended the preceding evening; but, to his astonishment, a mountain-stream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock to rock, and filling. the glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel; and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild. grape-vines that twisted their coils and tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of network in his path.

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the cliffs, to the amphitheatre; but no traces of such an opening remained. The rocks presented a high, impenetrable wall, over which the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad, deep basin, black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after his dog. He was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high in air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at the poor man's perplexities.

What was to be done? The morning was passing away, and Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty