The daily exchange. [volume] (Baltimore, Md.) 1858-1861, 1859-12-01
PRICE TWO CENTS,
From the Independent, Nor. 81
HALF AN HOUR AT SUNNYSIDE.-A VISIT

mans hand-in the thousand associations of tn
, place-for a visit to Sunnyside is equal to a pill
grimage to Abbotsford.
The quaint, grotesque dwelling, with its old
fashioned gables, stood solemn and sleepy among
the trees if it had been built to persOnate ole
Rip Van Winkle at his nap. The grounds wert
f covered with brown and yellow leaves, with hert
and there a red squirrel running and rustlinG
among them, as il pretending to be the true red
breast that laid the leaves over the babes in the
wood.
The morning had been rainy, and the afternoon
showed only few momentary 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 many -coored forests and Of Hendrix
Hudson's ancient river still flowing at the feet of
the ancient palisades.
The mansion of Sunnvsde has been standing for
twenty-three years; but when first its sharp ged
roof wedged its way up among the branches of the
old woods, the region was far more solitude than
now; for at that time busy author had secluded
himself from almost every body but one near neigh
Dor; while he has since unwittinglv ga altered
around him little community of New York mer-
chants, whose elegant country seats opening into
each other by mutual inte- twining roads, form
what looks like vast and free estate, called on
the time tables of the railroad by tn, honorary
name Of lrvington But even whiting the growing
circle of his many neighbors, thu genial old Knck-
erbockcr still lives in true retirement, entertain
ing his guests within echodstance of Sleepy IIOl-
| ow-wthout thought and almost without knowl-
edge,
'-how the great world
Is praising him off,
He withdrew year ago from all literary Labor
and is now spending the close Of his life in we'll
earned and long needed repose
Mr.. Irving is not so old looking as one would ex-
pect who knew his age. | ianced him as in the
| winter Of life found him only in its Indian sum
mer. lie came down stairs. and walked through
the hall into the back -parlor, with firm and live
| ly step that might well have made one doubt
| whether he had truly attained his seventy-sevenh
year. He was suffering from asthma, and was
muiiCd against the damp air with a Scotch shawl.
wrapped like great loose scarf around lis neck;
but as he took his seat in the old armchair and,
! despite his hoarseness and troubled chest, began
| an unexpectedly vivacious conversation, he made
me almost forget that was the guest Of an old man
long past his ''three score years and ten
But what should one talk about who had only
half an hour with Washington Irving? ventured
| the question
'Now that you have laid aside your pen, which
! of your books do you look back upon with most
! plpasure?"
He Immediately replied, 'I scarcely look with
full satisfaction upon any; for they do not seem
! what they might have been; often wish 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 of writing, before
| he had made the resolution to write no more. His
usual hours for literary work were from morning
! till noon. But, although he had generally found
his mind most 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," said he, "these capricious periods, of the
| heat and glow OF compOsition have been the hap
piest hours of nv life. have never found, in any
! thing outside OF the four walls of my study,
enjoyment equal to sitting at my writing desk with
clean page new theme, and mind awake
His literary emplOyments, he remarked, had al
ways been more like entertainments than tasks.
"SOme WRITER'S said he, ''appear to have been
| Independent of moods. Sir Walter Scott, for in
stance had great power of writing, and could work
almost at anv time; so could Crabbe-but with this
! difference Scott ALWAYS. and Crabbe seldom wrote
well. 81 ber," said he, "taking breakfa t
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 for himself he could write as well one
time at another. But" said Irving, with
twinkle Of humor at recalling the incident, "Crabbe
has written great deal that nobody read"
He mentioned that while living in Paris he went
| long period without being able to write. 81 sat
down repeatedly" said he, with pen and ink but
could invent nothing worth putting on the paper.
| AT length, told my friend Tom Moore, who drop
ped 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
nay brain dry. So began to write shortly after
! breakfast, and continued, without noticing how
| the time passing, until Moore came in again
at four in the aiternOOn-when had completely
covered the table with freshl v-written sheets.
kept the mood almost without interruption for six
! weeks"
asked which of his books was the result of this
| frenzy; he replied, "Braccbridgc Hall"
"None of your works." l remarked, care more
charming than the Biography Of Goldsmith"
''I ct that written" said he, ''even more
! rapidly that the other" He then added
''Whcn have been engaged continuous
| work, have often been obliged to rise in the mid
die of the night light my lamp, and write an hour
or two, to relieve mind; and now that | write
no more, am sometimes compelled to get up in
the same way to read"
Sometimes, also, as the last Idlewild letter
| mentions he gets up to shave!
''When | was in Spain," he remarked "searCh-
ing the old chronicles, and engaged the Life of
Columbus, often wrote fourteen or fifteen hours
out of the twenty-fOur."
lie said that whenever he had forced his mind
/ unwngly to work, the product was worthless,
and he invariably threw it away and began again;
| ''for' as be observed San essay or chapter that
has been only hammered out is seldom good for anv
thing. An authors right time to work is when his
mind is aglow; 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 ard greatest work. the Life
of Washington, and asked ii he felt, finishing it,
any such sensation As GibbOn is said to have eXpe
renced over the last sheet Of the Decline and Fall.
| He replied that the whole work had rngrOssed bis
mind to such a degree that, before he aware,
he had written himself into feebleness Of health;
that he feared in the midst of his labor that it would
break him down before he could end il; that when
! at last the final pages were written, he gave the
manuscript to his nephew to be conducted through
the press, and threw himself back upon his red
cushioned lounge with indcscribable feeling of
| relief! He added that the great fatigue OF mind
! throughout the whole task had resulted from the
care and pains required in the construction and
rangement of materials. and not in the litera
| rv composition Of the successive chapters.
But what magnificent volumes! What work
for an old man to have achieved! What a fitting
close to the labors of long and busy life! They
unite on one page and will Perpr'uate in one mem
ory, not only great name, but it, great namesake
| theFather Ofthe American Republic and the Father
of the American Republic of Letters.
On the parlor wall hung the engraving of Faed's
picture of :'Scott and his Contemporaries
alluded to it presenting a group of his former
! friends.
eyes" said he 81 knew every man of them but
three; and now they are all gone"
care the portraits good % | inquired
''Scott's head" he replied, lis well drawn,
though the expros sion lacks som thing Of Scotts
force; CampbelPs is toera5Ie Lockhart's is the
worst. Lockhqrt," said he .'was m IN Of very
delicate organization, but he had mo 'e manly look
than in the picture"
''You shou Id write one book" limited,
! 'What is that?
"Your "reminiscences of those literary friends"
"Ah" he exclaimed, ait is too late now shall
never take the pen again; have 'irely given
up writing. that my best rric nd tiers lie
| unanswered. | must have rest. No NOR books
/ now ~
Willis, whose letter he had just been reading in the
| Home journal.
81 am most glad, )" said he, "that Mr. Willis re-
! membered my nirces; they are my housekeepers
| and nurses; they take such good care Of that
really | am the most fortunate old bachelor in the
world! Yes" he repeated with merry empha-
| sis, "the most fortunate old bachelor in all the
world!'
1t was delightful to witness the animation Of his
manner. and the heartiness of his gratitude, he
continued to relate how they supplied all his wants
gave him his medicines at the right time, without
troubling him tolook at the clock tor himsef-called
him down to breakfast-cloakcd and shawIed him
for his morning rde-brought him his hat for his
fne-weather waks-and in every possible way hu-
mored him in every possible whim.
al call them sometimes my nieces, he said, "but
! oftener my daughters"
As rose to 90, he brought from a corner of the
room photograph Of a little girl exhibiting it
! with great enthusiasm. 1t gift from little
! child who had c.me to see him every day during
| his sickness. The picture accompanied with a
note, printed in large letters, with lead pencil by
the little correspondent, who said she too Young
! to write He spoke with great vivacitv of his
! childish visitor. ''Chdren," said the old man,
care great pets: am very fond of the little
| lures"
The authors study-into which | looked for a
| few moments before leaving-is a small room al
most entirely filled by the great writing-tnbe and
! the lounge behind it. The walls are laden with
books and pictures which evidently re arranged
! every day by some delicate hand for Of the
| books were tumbled into a corner, and no papers
were living loose upon the table. The pen, too,
laid precisely parallel to the edge of the ink stand
| - nicely which only womanly housekeeper
would persevere TO maintain! Besides. there was
| n Sneck nf duSt upOn Garnet cushiOnl