"Centuries  hence,  perchance,  some  lover  of  'The  Old  American
Writers '  will  speculate  as  ardently  as  Monkbarns  himself  about  the  site
of  Sleepy  Hollow.  Then  the  Hudson  will  possess  a  classic  interest,  and
the  associations  of  genius  and  patriotism  may  furnish  themes  to  illus-
trate its  matchless  scenery.  The  Culprit  Fay  will  then  be  quoted  with
enthusiasm.  Imagination  is  a  perverse  faculty.  Why  should  the  ruins
of  a  feudal  castle  add  enchantment  to  a  knoll  of  the  Catskills  ?  Are  not
the  Palisades  more  ancient  than  thft  aqueducts  of  the  Roman  Cam-
pagna.'  Can  bloody  tradition  or  superstitious  legends  really  enhance
the  picturesque  impression  derived  from  West  Point  ?  The  heart  for-
ever asserts  its  claim.  Primeval  nature  is  often  coldly  grand  in  the  view
of  one  who  loves  and  honors  his  race;  and  the  outward  world  is  only
brought  near  to  his  spirit  when  linked  with  human  love  and  suffering,
or  consecrated  by  heroism  and  faith.  Yet,  if  there  ever  was  a  stream
romantic  in  itself,  superior,  from  its  own  wild  beauty,  to  all  extraneous
charms,  it  is  the  Hudson.  Who  ever  sailed  between  its  banks  and
scanned  its  jutting  headlands  —  the  perpendicular  cliffs  —  the  meadows
over  which  alternate  sunshine  and  cloud  —  umbrageous  woods,  masses
of  gray  rock,  dark  cedar  groves,  bright  grain-fields,  tasteful  cottages,
and  fairy-like  sails ;  who,  after  thus  feasting  both  sense  and  soul  through
a  summer  day,  has,  from  a  secluded  nook  of  those  beautiful  shores,
watched  the  moon  rise  and  tip  the  crystal  ripples  with  light,  and  not
echoed  the  appeal  of  the  bard?  —

'  Tell  me  —  where'er  thy  silver  bark  be  steering.
By  bright  Italian  or  soft  Persian  lands,
Or  o*er  those  island-studded  seas  careering.
