Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1859-12-09

Sunnyside-the residence of Washington Ir.
wing. Such a half hour ought to have beer
one of the pleasantest in ones life; and 50 il
was! The pleasure began before reaching the
doorstep, or taking the old mans hand-in
the thousand associations of the place-for a
visit to Sunnyside is equal to a pilgrimage ia
Abbotsford.
The quaint, srotesQue old dwelling, with
its old-fIsh0ned gables, stood as solemn and
sleepy among the trees as if it had been built
TO personate old Rip Van W Winkle at his nan
| The grounds were covered with brown and
yellow leaves, with here and there a red
| squirrel running and rustling among them. as
If pretending to be the true red breast that
laid the leaves over the babes in the wood.
The morning had been rainy, and the after
noon showed only few momentarv openings
of clear sky; so that | saw Sunnyside without
the sun. But under the heavy clouds there
was something awe inspiring in the sombre
view Of those grand hills with their manv
colored forests, and Of Hendrix Hudson's an
cient river still flowing as the feet of the an
cient palisades.
The mansion of Sunnyside has been stand
ing for tWenty-three years; but when first its
sharp angled roof wedged its way up among
the branches Of the old woods the region was
far more a solitude than now; for at that
time our busy author had secluded himself
from almost everybody but one near neigh
Dor; while he has since unwIttingiy gathered
around him u little community Of New York
merchants, whose elegant country seats, open
ing into each other by mutual intertwining
roads, form what looks like one vast and free
estate, called on the Timetables OF the raIl-
road by the honorary name of Irvington.
But even within the growing circle of his
many neighbors, the genial old Knicker-
booker still lives in true retirement, enter
tanning his guests within echo distance of
Sleepy Hollow-without thought and almost
without knowledge
how the great would
Is praising him far OIL.
He withdrew a year ago from all literary Ia
Dor, and is now spending the close of his life
in well-earned and long-needed repose.
Mr.. Irving is not SO old-looking as one
would expect who knew his age | fanaied
hIm as in the winter Of life; / found him
only in its Indian summer. He came down
stairs ami walked through the hall into the
back plrior. with a firm and lively step that
might well have made one doubt whether he
had truly attained his seventy seventh year.
lie was suffering from asthma, and was muf
fed against the damp air with a Scotch shawl
wrapped like a great loose scarf around his
neck but as he took mis- seat in the old arm
chair, and. despite his hoarseness and trou-
bled chest, began an unexpectedly vIvacious
he made me almost forget that
I was the guest OF an old man long past his
:. three->c3rc years AM ten
But what should one talk about who had
only half an hour with Washington Irving
| yentured the question,
- Now that You have laid aside your pen,
which of your books do you look back upon
with most pleasure? ?''
He immediately replied, - scarcely look
wiJl 'u.l satisfaction upon any for they do
not sem what they might have been; | Of
ten wish that c.ult a.ya twenty years more,
to take them down from thr shelf, one by one,
and write them over.
He spoke # his daily habits of writing,
before ne had made the resolution to write
no more His usual hours OF literary work
were from morning till noon. But although
be had generally found his mind mos, vigOr-
Jus in the early part Of the day, he had al
ways been subject t. moods and caprices, and
could never tell, when he took up the pen,
how many hours would pass before he would
lay it down
- But, said he, '' these prc)us periods
Of heat and glow Of composition have been
the happiest hours OF my life. I have never
found, in any thing outside the four walls of
my study. any enjoyment equal to sitting at
my writing-desk with a clean page, new
theme, and mind awake
His literary employments, he remarked.
had always been more like entertainments
than tasks.
Some writers, said he, appear to have
been Independent Of moods Sir Walter
Scott, for instance, had great power Of writ
ing, ana could work almost at any time; so
could Crabbe-but with this difference
Scott always. and Crabbe seldom wrote well.
Il remember" said he, taking breakfast
one morning with Rogers. Moore and Crabbe,
the conversation turned on Lord Byron's
poetic moods. Crab1e said that. however it
might be with Lord Byron, as for himself
he could write as wei one time as at another.
- But said Irving, with a twinkle of humor
at recalling the incident. "Crabbe has writ
ten great deal that nobody can read"
He mentioned that while living in Paris
he went a long period without being able to
write. Il sat down repeatedly" said he,
with pen and ink. but could invent nc
thing worth putting on the paper. At
length, | told my friend Tom Moore, who
dropped in one morning, that now, after
long waiting, | had the mood, and would
hold it, and work it out as long as it would
last, until hard wrung my brain dry. So
began TO write shortly aftersbreakfast, and
continued, without noticing how the time
was passing, until Moore came in again at
four in the afternoOn-when | had complete
ly covered the table with freshly-written
sheets. l kept the mood almost without in
terruption for six weeks.
| asked which Of his books was the result
of this frenzy he replied, "Bracebridge
Hall
None Of your works, remarked, ''are
more charming than the Biography of Gold
smith.
''Yet that WIS written, said be, "even
more rapidly than the other" He then ad-
ded
''When l have been engaged on a continu
Gus work, have often been obliged to rise
in the middle Of the hight, light my lamp
and write an hour or two to relieve my
mind and now that write no more l am
sometimes compelled to get up IN the ''''''
way to read. ,,;151,..ors
Sometimes, also, as the last i'ii0'' ii~ -
mention, he gets up 70 sh|.I .
hon |
..aoon,iill, the old chronicles, and engaged /
on tbe Lie ofColumbus, l often wrote four
ol tas,' or fifteen hours out of the twenty-four.'
He said that whenever he had forced his
mind unwillingly to work the product was |
worthless, and he invariably threw it away |
md began again; ''for," as he observed, |
IAN essay or chapter that has been only
hammered out is seldom good for anything. |
An author right time to work is when his |
mind is aglow; when his Imagination is kin
He'd; these are his precious moments let |
him wait until they come, but when they
have come let him make the most Of them"
[ referred to his last AID greatest work,
the Life Of Washington, and asked if he felt,
on finishing 1t, any such sensation as Gibbon |
is said to have experienced over the last sheet |
Of the Decline and Fall He replied that the
whole work had engrossed his mind to such |
a degree that, before he was aware, he had |
written himself into feebleness of health
that he feared In the midst of his labor that |