Book: Continental Monthly, Vol. I, No. VI, June, 1862

V >> Various >> Continental Monthly, Vol. I, No. VI, June, 1862




To Staten Islanders it must be a pleasant reminiscence, that among their
earliest settlers were these pious Waldenses.

Like their brethren in Utrecht, the descendants of the Huguenots on the
Island sometimes occupy the same farms which their pious ancestors
obtained more than a century and a half ago. The Disosways, the Guions,
the Seguines, on its beautiful winding shores, are well-known examples
of this kind. The Hollanders, Walloons, Waldenses, and the Huguenots
here all intermarried, and the noble, spiritual races thus combined,
ever have formed a most excellent, industrious, and influential
population. Judges, Assemblymen, members of Congress, and ministers,
again and again, in Richmond county, have been selected from these
unions. During the Revolutionary struggle, the husband of Mrs. Colonel
Disosway had fallen into the hands of the common enemy; she was the
sister of the well-known and brave Captain Fitz-Randolph, or Randell, as
commonly called, who had greatly annoyed the British. When one of their
officers had consented to procure her husband's release, if she would
persuade her brother to quit the American ranks, she indignantly
replied: 'If I could act so dastardly a part, think you that General
Washington has but one Captain Randolph in his army?'

The early history of some of the emigrants is almost the reality of
romance. Henri de La Tourette fled from La Vendee, after the Revolution,
and to avoid suspicion, gave a large entertainment. While the guests
were assembled at his house, he suddenly left, with his wife, for the
sea-coast. This was not far off, and reaching it, he escaped on board a
vessel bound for Charleston. The ship was either cast away upon the
shores of Staten Island, or made a harbor in distress. Here La Tourette
landed, and a long list of exemplary, virtuous people trace their origin
to this source, and one of them has been pastor to the 'Huguenot,' a
Dutch Reformed church on the Island, and is now a useful minister among
the Episcopalians of the Western States. A branch of this family still
exists at the chateau of La Tourette, in France, and some years since,
one of them visited this country to obtain the 'Old Family Bible.' But
he was unsuccessful, as the holy and venerable volume had been sent long
before to a French refugee in Germany. But few of such holy books can
now be found, printed in French, and very scarce; wherever met with,
they should he carefully perused and preserved.

Dr. Channing Moore for a long time was the faithful pastor of St.
Andrew's, the Episcopal Church at Richmond. Afterward he was consecrated
the Bishop of Virginia. He was connected by marriage with an old
Huguenot family of the Island, and his son, the Rev. David Moore, D.D.,
succeeded him here, living and dying, a striking example of fidelity to
his most important duties. That eloquent divine, the late Rev. Dr.
Bedell, of Philadelphia, was a Staten Islander by birth, and of the same
French origin on the maternal side.

His son is the present Bishop Bedell of Ohio. There are scarcely any of
the original Richmond county families but claim relationship to the
French Protestants either on the father or mother's side. In all the
official records are to be found such names as Disosway, Fontaine,
(Fountain,) Reseau, Bedell, Rutan, Poillon, Mercereau, La Conte,
Britten, Maney, Perrin, (Perrine,) Larselene, Curse, De Puy, (Depuy,)
Corssen, Martineau, Morgane, (Morgan,) Le Guine, (Leguine,) Journey,
Teunise, Guion, Dubois, Andronette, Winant, Totten, La Farge, Martling,
De Decker, (Decker very numerous,) Barton, Ryers, Menell, Hillyer, De
Groot, Garretson, Vanderbilt, etc., etc.

Few communities are blest with a better population than Richmond county,
moral, industrious, thrifty, and religious, and they should ever cherish
the remembrance of their virtuous and noble origin. The island is not
more than twelve or fourteen miles long, and about three wide, with some
thirty thousand inhabitants; and within these small limits there are
over thirty churches, of various denominations, each having a regular
pastor; and most of the official members in these congregations are
lineal branches of the first settlers, the French Protestants. What a
rich and glorious, harvest, since the handful of Holland, Walloon,
Waldenses, and Huguenot emigrants, two centuries and a half ago, first
landed upon the wilderness shores of Staten Island!




_RECOLLECTIONS OF WASHINGTON IRVING._

BY ONE OF HIS FRIENDS.

The appearance of the first volume of the long-expected _Life of
Washington Irving_ has excited an interest which will not be satisfied
until the whole work shall have been completed. Its author, Pierre M.
Irving, sets forth with the announcement that his plan is to make the
patriarch of American literature his own biographer. It is nothing new
that this branch of letters is beset with peculiar difficulties. Some
men suffer sadly at the hand of their chronicler. Scott misrepresents
Napoleon, and Southey fails equally in his Memoirs of Cowper and of the
Wesleys. Friendship's colors are too bright for correct portraiture, and
prejudice equally forbids acuracy. Mr. Pierre M. Irving, though an
admirer of his distinguished kinsman, (and who that knew him could fail
of admiration?) avoids the character of a mere eulogist, while at the
same time he exhibits none of the obsequiousness of a Boswell,
fluttering like a moth about a huge candle. Being a man of independent
mind and of high culture, he brings out the character he portrays in
aspects true to life, and not exaggerated by excess of tone, while he
fully exhibits its exquisite finish.

Among the many incidents of deep interest which are contained in this
volume, the episode of Matilda Hoffman stands forth in most striking
relief. While lifting the veil which for a half-century covered the most
pathetic event in Irving's life, his biographer touches with a
scrupulous delicacy a theme so sacredly enshrined in a life-long memory.
In referring to this affair, which gave a tender aspect to Irving's
subsequent career, and in fact changed its whole tenor, we may remark
that the loves of literary men form a most interesting and, in some
cases, moving history. Some, like Petrarch, Earl Surrey, Burns, and
Byron, have embalmed the objects of their affection in the effusions of
their muse, while others have bequeathed that duty to others. Shakspeare
says but little about his sweetheart, while Milton, who was decidedly
unsuccessful in matters of the heart, seems to have acted on the motto,
'The least said, the soonest mended.' Poor Pope, miserable invalid
though he was, nervous, irritable, and full of hate and spleen, was not
beyond the power of the tender passion, and confessed the charms of the
lonely Martha Blount, who held the wretched genius among her conquests.
Swift, although an ogre at heart, had his chapter of love matters, which
never fail to give us the horrors when we bring them to mind, and the
episodes of Stella and Vanessa are among the minor tragedies in life's
great drama. Johnson had a great heart, and was born to love, though,
like the lion, he needed to have his claws pared, to fit him for female
society. What a tender attachment was that which he bore 'Tetty,' and
with what solemn remembrance he preserved her as his own, even after
death had robbed him of her presence!

The loves of these men exercised the strongest influence on their
destinies, while, on the other hand, disappointment and consequent
celibacy have done the same to their victims. To the bachelor list of
modern days, which can boast of Charles Lamb and Macaulay, America adds
the proud name of Washington Irving, whose early disappointment made him
an author.

My impressions of Irving's boyhood and youth are alive with the
freshness of an early memory, which conserves along with him the
Crugers, Clintons, Livingstons, Ogdens, and other old and honored names
of New-York. The biography which inspires this reminiscence gives a
sketch of the early history of the family, and as its author has thus
opened the subject, it will not, we presume, be considered an intrusion
if I pursue the thread of domestic incident a little farther than he has
done.

The Irving homestead, in William street, was, in its day, a place of
some pretension, when contrasted with the humble dwellings which
surrounded it. The street on which it stood was miserably built, but
here, in the suburb of the city, was a house whose appearance
corresponded with the solid and high-toned character of its owner. Old
Mr. Irving was, at the time to which I refer, a hale citizen of about
three-score and ten, of grave and majestic bearing, and a form and
expression which, when once fixed in the mind, could not easily be
forgotten. As I remember him, his countenance was cast in that strong
mould which characterized the land of his birth, but the features were
often mellowed by a quiet smile. He was a man of deep piety, and was
esteemed a pillar in the Brick Church, then the leading Presbyterian
church of the city.

His mode of conducting family worship was peculiarly beautiful, and even
to his last days he maintained this service. On such occasions, it was a
most touching spectacle to see the majestic old man, bowed and hoary
with extreme age, leaning upon his staff, as he stood among his family
and sung a closing hymn, generally one appropriate to his condition,
while tears of emotion ran down his checks. One of these hymns we well
remember. It runs in these lines,

'Death may dissolve my body now,
And bear my spirit home;
Why do my moments move so slow,
Nor my salvation come?

'With heavenly weapons I have fought
The battles of my Lord;
Finished my course, and kept the faith,
And wait the sure reward.'

In a few years, the words of this exquisite hymn were fulfilled; the old
man fell asleep, full of years and of honors, going to the grave like a
shock of corn in its season. His funeral was one of imposing simplicity,
and he was buried just at the entrance of that church where he had been
so long a faithful attendant.

Mrs. Irving, who survived him several years, was of a different type of
character, which, by its peculiar contrast, seemed to perfect the
harmony of a well-matched union. She was of elegant shape, with large
English features, which were permeated by an indescribable life and
beauty. Her manners were full of action, and her conversational powers
were of a high order. All of these graces appeared in the children, and
were united with the vigor of intellect which marked the character of
the father.

It would have been surprising if the offspring of such a union should
not have been distinguished, and it is only the peculiar relation which
the biographer sustains to it which prevents him from bringing this
feature out more prominently.

It was, however, acknowledged, at an early day, that the family of
William Irving had no equal in the city, and when we consider its
number, its personal beauty, its moral excellence, its varied talents,
without a single deficient or unworthy member, we can not wonder at the
general admiration which it commanded. From the eldest son, William, and
Ann, the eldest daughter, whom her father fondly termed Nancy, to
Washington, the youngest, all were endowed with beauty, grace,
amiability, and talent, yet in the latter they seemed to effloresce with
culminating fullness. Nancy Irving was the cynosure of William street,
concerning whose future destiny many a youth might have confessed an
impassioned interest. Her brother William had become connected
commercially with a young revolutionary soldier, (General Dodge,) who
had opened a trading-station on the Mohawk frontier, and the latter bore
away the sister as his bride. The union was one of happiness, and lasted
twenty years, when it was terminated by her death. Of this, Washington
thus speaks, in a letter in 1808: 'On the road, as I was traveling in
high spirits, with the idea of home to inspire me, I had the shock of
reading an account of my dear sister's death, and never was a blow
struck so near my heart before.... One more heart lies cold and still
that ever beat toward me with the warmest affection, for she was the
tenderest, best of sisters, and a woman of whom a brother might be
proud.' Little did the author of this letter then dream of that more
crushing blow which within one year was to fall upon him, and from whose
weight he was never wholly to recover.

William Irving, the brother of the biographer, was a model of manly
beauty, and early remarkable for a brilliant and sparkling intellect,
which overflowed in conversation, and often bordered on eloquence. Had
he been bred to the law, he would have shone among its brightest stars;
but those gifts, which so many envied, were buried in trade, and though
he became one of the merchant-princes of the city, even this success
could not compensate for so great a burial of gifts. As one of the
contributors to _Salmagundi_, he exhibits the keenness of a flashing
wit, while, in subsequent years, he represented New-York in Congress,
when such an office was a distinction.

Peter Irving, like his brother, united personal elegance with talents,
and conducted the _Morning Chronicle_, amid the boisterous storms of
early politics. This journal favored the interests of Burr; but it must
be remembered that at that time Burr's name was free from infamy, and
that, as a leader, he enjoyed the highest prestige, being the centre of
the Democracy of New-York. Burr's powers of fascination were peculiarly
great, and he had surrounded himself with a circle of enthusiastic
admirers. Indeed, such was his skill in politics, that in 1800 he upset
the Federalists, after a pitched battle of three days, (the old duration
of an election,) which was one of the most exciting scenes I ever
witnessed. Horatio Gates, of Saratoga fame, was one of his nominees for
the State Legislature, (Gates was then enjoying those undeserved laurels
which posterity has since taken away,) and it was surprising to see the
veterans of the Revolution abandoning their party to vote for their old
comrade and leader. The result was, that the Federalists were most
thoroughly worsted, and the party never recovered from the blow. Such
were the exciting events which identified the young politicians of the
metropolis, and which inspired their speeches and their press. Burr's
headquarters were at Martling's Tavern, 87 Nassau street. On being torn
down, the business was removed to Tammany Hall, which has inherited a
political character from its predecessor. Besides this, he used to meet
his friends in more select numbers at a Coffee-house in Maiden Lane. His
office was Number 30 Partition street, (now Fulton,) and his residence
was at Richmond Hill. This place has lately been pulled down; it stood
far away from the city, in a wild, secluded neighborhood, and in bad
going was quite an out of the way spot, though now it would be in the
densest part of the city. As there were no public vehicles plying in
this direction, except the Chelsea (Twenty-eighth street) stage, which
was very unreliable, one either had to hire a coach or else be subjected
to a walk of two miles. But such as had the _entree_ of this
establishment would be well rewarded, even for these difficulties, by an
interview with Theodosia Burr, the most charming creature of her day.
She was married early, and we saw but little of her. From the interest
which the Irvings felt in Burr's fortunes, it might have been expected
that they should sympathize with him in his subsequent reverses.

The biographer presents Washington Irving as an attendant at the famous
trial at Richmond, where his indignation at some of Burr's privations
are expressed in a most interesting letter. This sympathy is the more
touching from the fact that Washington was a Federalist, and in this
respect differed from his brothers. We have an idea that his youthful
politics were in no small degree influenced by those of that
illustrious personage for whom he was named. Another of the sons was
John T., who became a successful and wealthy jurist, and for many years
presided at New-York Common Pleas, while Ebenezer was established in
trade at an early day. Such was the development of that family, which in
rosy childhood followed William Irving to the old Brick Church, and
whose early progress he was permitted to witness. The biographer passes
lightly over the scenes of boyhood, and there was hardly any need for
his expatiating on that idolatry which surrounded the youngest. He was
no doubt the first child ever named after the father of his country, and
the touching incident of Lizzie's presenting the chubby, bright-eyed boy
to Washington, is hit off in a few touches. It was, however, in itself a
sublime thing. Nearly seventy years afterward, that child, still feeling
the hand of benediction resting upon him, concludes his _Life of
Washington_ by a description of his reception in New-York, of which he
had been a witness. Why does he not (it would have been a most
pardonable allusion) bring in the incident referred to above? Ah!
modesty forbade; yet, as he penned that description, his heart must have
rejoiced at the boldness of the servant who broke through the crowd and
presented to the General a boy honored with his name. Glorious incident
indeed!

As the family grew up, the young men took to their different
professions, which we have briefly designated. Peter read medicine, and
hence received the title of 'doctor;' though he hated and finally
abjured it, yet, as early as 1794, he had opened an office at 208
Broadway. This, however, was more a resort for the muses than for
Hygeia, notwithstanding its sign, 'Peter Irving, M.D.' In 1796, William
Irving, who had been clerk in the loan office, established himself in
trade in Pearl--near Partition--street, and from his energy and elegance
of manners, he became immediately successful, while farther up the
street, near Old Slip, John T. opened a law office, which was
subsequently removed to Wall street, near Broadway. We mention these
facts to show that Irving entered life surrounded by protecting
influences, and that the kindness which sheltered him from the world's
great battle had a tendency to increase his natural delicacy and to
expose him to more intense suffering, when the hand of misfortune should
visit him. One who had 'roughed it' with the world would have better
borne the killing disappointment of his affections; but he was rendered
peculiarly sensitive to suffering by his genial surroundings.

This fact sets off in remarkable contrast, the noble resolution with
which such an one as he, when he had buried all the world held in the
tomb with the dead form of his beloved, rose above his sorrows. It is
well observed by his biographer, that 'it is an affecting evidence how
little Mr. Irving was ever disposed to cultivate or encourage sadness,
that he should be engaged during this period of sorrow and seclusion in
revising and giving additional touches to his _History of New-York_.'
Those who may smile at the elegant humor which pervades the pages of
that history, will be surprised to learn that they were nearly complete,
yet their final revision and preparation for the press was by one who
was almost broken of heart, and who thus cultivated a spirit of
cheerfulness, lest he should become a burden to himself and others. As
he writes to Mrs. Hoffman: 'By constantly exercising my mind, never
suffering it to prey upon itself, and resolutely determining to be
cheerful, I have, in a manner, worked myself into a very enviable state
of serenity and self-possession.'

How truly has Wordsworth expressed this idea:

'If there be one who need bemoan
His kindred laid in earth,
The household hearts that were his own,
It is the man of mirth.'

We are glad to know that in time Irving sought a better consolation.

But to return from this digression, or rather anticipation of our
subject. At the time of which we now write, New-York was comparatively a
small town; true, it was the chief commercial city in America, and yet
its limits proper could be described by a line drawn across the island
some distance below Canal street. Yet even then New-York was full of
life, and seemed to feel the promise of subsequent greatness. Her
streets echoed to the footsteps of men whom the present generation, with
all its progress, can not surpass. At Number 26 Broadway, might have
been daily seen the light-built but martial and elegant form of
Alexander Hamilton, while his mortal foe, Aaron Burr, as we have stated,
held his office in Partition street. John Jacob Astor was just becoming
an established and solid business man, and dwelt at 223 Broadway, the
present site of the Astor House, and which was one of the earliest
purchases which led to the greatest landed estate in America. Robert
Lenox lived in Broadway, near Trinity Church, and was building up that
splendid commerce which has made his son one of the chief city
capitalists. De Witt Clinton was a young and ambitious lawyer, full of
promise, whose office (he was just elected Mayor) was Number 1 Broadway.
Cadwallader D. Colden was pursuing his brilliant career, and might be
found immersed in law at Number 59 Wall street. Such were the legal and
political magnates of the day; while to slake the thirst of their
excited followers, Medcef Eden brewed ale in Gold street, and Janeway
carried on the same business in Magazine street; and his empty
establishment became notorious, in later years, as the 'Old Brewery.'

About this time young Irving was developing as one of the most
interesting youth of the city. His manners were soft without being
effeminate, his form finely molded, and his countenance singularly
beautiful. To this might be added the general opinion that he was
considerably gifted in the use of the pen. Yet with all these promising
features, the future was clothed with shadows, for his health was
failing, and his friends considered him too lovely a flower to last.
Little did his brothers and sisters think that that delicate youth
would, with one exception, outlive the whole family. It was at this time
that he first went abroad; and his experiences of travel are given by
Pierre Irving in the sparkling letters which he wrote to his brothers.

In 1807 I used to meet him once more in social gatherings in the city,
for he had returned in full restoration of health, his mind expanded,
and his manners improved by intercourse with the European world, while
_Salmagundi_ had electrified the city and given him the first rank among
its satirists. The question of profession crowded on him, and he
alternated between the law and the counting-room, in either of which he
might find one or more of his brothers. The former of these was a road
to distinction, the latter was one to wealth; but feeling the absence of
practical business gifts, he shrank from trade, and took refuge in the
quiet readings of an office. Josiah Ogden Hoffman, of whose daughter so
much has recently been written, was a family friend, as well as a lawyer
of high character. He lived first at Number 68 Greenwich street, but
afterward moved up-town, his office being in Wall street, first Number
47, and afterward Number 16. Young Irving finished his studies with Mr.
Hoffman, and immediately took office with his brother John, at Number 3
Wall street. To these two was soon added the presence of Peter, who was
still connected with the press, and thus might have been found for a
short time a most interesting and talented, as well as fraternal trio.

Washington was still, to a considerable degree an _habitue_ of Mr.
Hoffman's office, and it seems quite amusing that one who was so dull at
reading law that he makes merry with his own deficiencies, should have a
connection with two offices. But the name of Matilda was the magnet
which drew him to one where he vainly struggled to climb Alp on Alp of
difficulties in hope of love's fruition, while at the other he might
smile at the bewilderments of Coke, brush away the cobwebs from his
brain, and recreate himself with the rich humors of _Salmagundi_.

The place and time where this remarkable attachment had its inception,
are not known; but like all such affairs, it arose, no doubt, from
felicitous accident. In one of his sketches, Irving speaks of a
mysterious footprint seen on the sward of the Battery, which awoke a
romantic interest in his breast. This youthful incident comes to our
mind when we remember that Mr. Hoffman lived at Number 68 Greenwich
street, not a stone's throw from the Battery, and we have sometimes
thought that the mysterious footprint might have been Matilda's. At any
rate, the Battery was at that day a place of fashionable resort, and
hence the fair but fragile form of Matilda Hoffman could almost any day
have been seen tripping among bevies of city girls in pursuit of health
or pleasure. But whatever be the history of its origin, the attachment
became one of mutual strength; and while young Irving was surrounded by
piles of lawbooks and red tape, his hope of success was identified with
the name of Matilda. My remembrance of Matilda (her name was Sarah
Matilda, but the first was dropped in common intercourse) revives a
countenance of great sweetness, and an indescribable beauty of
expression. Her auburn hair played carelessly in the wind, and her
features, though not of classic outline, were radiant with life. Her eye
was one of the finest I have ever seen--rich, deep-toned, and eloquent,
speaking volumes in each varying expression, and generally suggestive of
pensive emotion. Irving was about eight years her senior, and this
difference was just sufficient to draw out that fond reliance of female
character which he has so beautifully set forth in the sketch of 'The
Wife.' The brief period of this courtship was the sunny hour of his
life, for his tender and sensitive nature forbade any thing but the most
ardent attachment. What dreams of future bliss floated before his
intoxicated vision, soon to change to the stern realities of grieving
sorrow!

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