Print (PDF) - On this page / på denna sida - Brooklyn, November 5, 1849
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it to show to his friends and admirers in Sweden. Washington Irving invited me and my friends to his house for the following day, and in the forenoon I paid him a visit. His house or villa, which stands on the banks of the Hudson, resembles a peaceful idyll; thick masses of ivy clothe one portion of the white walls and garland the eaves. Fat cows graze in a meadow right before the window. Within, the room seemed full of summer warmth and peace, and gave the appearance of something living. One felt that a cordial spirit, full of the best sentiments of the soul, lived and worked there. Washington Irving, although possessed of the politeness of a man of the world, and with abundant natural good temper, has nevertheless some of that natural shyness which so easily attaches itself to the author of the better and more refined type. The poetical mind, through its intercourse with the divine spheres, is often brought into disharmony with clumsy earthly realities. To these belong especially the visits of strangers and the forms of social intercourse, such as we employ in good society on earth, and which are shells that must be cracked if one would get at the juice of either kernel or fruit. But that is a difficulty for which one often has no time. A portrait which hangs in Washington Irving's drawing-room, and which was painted many years ago, represents him
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