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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