Cleveland morning leader. [volume] (Cleveland [Ohio]) 1854-1865, 1859-11-30
uAlF AN noun An suNNYs1Dr.


wss. The pleasure began before reaching the |
door step, OF taking the old mans hand--in the |
Thousand associations Of the place. For visit |
TO Snnnyeide Is cquh TO pilgrimage at
Ah '.'sford.
lhc quaint, grotesque old dwelling, with its
old-iashionod gables, stood as solemn and sleepy
among the trees, as if il had been built to
pcrsonate old Rip Van Winkle at his nap
The grounds were covered with brown and
yellow leaves, with here and there red squiT.
iel running and rustling among them, as II
pretending TO be the true red breast that laid
the leaves over the babes IN the wood
The morning had been rainy, and the alter
noon showed only few momentary openings
Of clear SKY; SO that saw Sunnyside without
the suu. But under the heavy clouds there
was something awe inspiring in the somber
view of those grand hills with their many
colored forests and Of Hendrix Hudson's ancient
river still flowing al the feet Of the ancient
palisades.
The mausion of Sunnyside has been standing
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 neighbor; while he has since
unwittingly gathered around him a little COM
munity of New York merchants, whose ele-
giant country seats, opening into each other by
mutual INTERVIEWING roads, form what looks
like one vast and free estate called ON the time
tables of the railroad by the honorary name Of
lrvington. Bot even within the growing cir
Gle of bis many neighburs, the genial old
Knickerbocker stin lives in true retirement,
entertaining bis guests within echo distance OF
Sleepy. Hollow-without thought, and almost
without knowledge,
''-how the great world
Is nraising him far on.'
He withdrew year ago from all literary labor,
and is now spending the close of his life in
well-earnGd and long needed Iepose.
Mr. Irving is not so nldO king as one would
expect who knew his age faucied him as in
the winter of life; l found him only in its In
dian summer lie came down stairs, and
walked through the hall into the back parlor
with a firm and lively step that might well have
made Que doubt whether he had truly attained
his seventy seventh year He was suffering
from asthma, and was muiied against the
| damp air with q Scotch shawl wrapped like
great loose scarf around his neck; but as he
took his seat in the old arm chair, and despite
his hoarseneBs and troabled chest, began an
Unexpectedly vivacious conversation, he made
me almost forget that | was the guest of an
old man long past his "thTee.score years and
| ten"
But what should one talk about who had
only half an hour with Washington Irvingl-
| ventured 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, IL scarcely look
with full satisfaction upon any Tor they do not
seem what they might have been; l often wiah
that ! could have twenty years more, TO take
| them down from the shelf, one by one, and
write them over"
lie spoke of his daily habits in writing, be-
fore he had made the resolution to write no
more. His usual hours for literary work were
from morning ill noon. But, although he
| had generally found his mind more vigorous in
the early part OF the day, he had always been
subject to 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,' says he, "thcse caprieious periods of
the heat and glow Of composition, have been
the happiest hours of my life. l have never
found, in anything 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 writer's" said he, "appear to have
been independent Of moods Sir Walter Scott,
for instance, had great power of writing, anu
could work almost at any time; 80 could Crabbe
but with this difference; Scott always, and
Crabbe seldom wrote well. / remember said
he, ''taking breakfast one morning with Rogers,
Moore and Crabbe; the conversation turned on
Lord Byron's poetic moods; Crabbe said that,
however it might be with Lord Byron, as for
li l. self he could write AZ well at one time as
at another. But" said Irving, with twinkle
OF humOr at recalling the incident, "Cfabbe
has written a good deal that nobody can
read !"
lie mentioned that while living in Paris, he
went a long period without being able TO write,
Il sat down repeatedly" said be, "with pen
and ink, but could find nothing worth puttinr
on paper. At length l 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 ] had wrung my brain dry. So |
began to write shortly after brelkfass, and con.
iinued without notlciciDg how the time was
passing, until Moore came in again at four in
the afternoon, when had completely covered
the table with freshly written sheets kept
the mood almost without interruption for six
weeks"
asked which of his books was the result Of
this frenzy he replied, "Bracebridge Hall "
| "NOne of your works" j remarked tara
more charming than the Biography of Gold.
smith"
yet that was wriLten," said he, "even more
rapidly than the other" He then added
"When l have been engaged on a continuous
work, have oflen been obliged to rise in the
middle of the night, light my lamp, and write
an hour or two, to relieve my mind; and now
that l SritC no more, am sometimes compelled
To get up in the same way to read"
EiSometimes, also, as the last Idlewild letter
mentions, he gets up to shRve
"When 1 was in Spain" he remarked
''searching the old chronicles, aud engaged on
the Life of Columbus, often wrote fourteen OF
fifteen horrs out of the twenty -fouc."
He said that whenever he had forced his mind
unwilngly to work, the product was worth
less, and he invariably threw it away, and began
again; "lor," as he observed, "an essay or chap
ter that has been only hammered out, is seldom
good for anything. An authors right time 20
work is when his mind is nglow; when his
imagination is kindled; 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 aud greatest work, the
Life OF Washington and asked if he felt on
flashing it any such sensation as Gbbon is said
| :" nave ca PeLlSlCSu uNei tue lhut hheet OF the
Dcclne and Fall He replied that the whole
work had engrossed his mind TO such degree
that, before lie was aware, he had written him.
self into ieebleness OF health; that he feared in
the midst ofhis labor that it would break him
down before he could end il; that when, at last.
the final pages were written, he gave the man
uscript to bis nephew to bs conducted through
the press, and threw himself back upon his red
cushioned lounge, with an indescrbable feeling
ofrelief He added that the great fatigue Of
mind throughout the whole task had resulted
from the care and pains required in the construe.
| tiau and M a. .