The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work;
and now that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his
memory to say that his time might have been much better employed
in weightier labors. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his
own way; and though it did now and then kick up the dust a little
in the eyes of his neighbors, and grieve the spirit of some
friends, for whom he felt the truest deference and affection, yet
his errors and follies are remembered "more in sorrow than in
anger," and it begins to be suspected, that he never intended to
injure or offend. But however his memory may be appreciated by
critics, it is still held dear among many folks, whose good
opinion is well worth having; particularly by certain
biscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to imprint his likeness
on their new-year cakes, and have thus given him a chance for
immortality, almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo
medal, or a Queen Anne's farthing.]

WHOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the
Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great
Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river,
swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over the
surrounding country. Every change of season, every change of
weather, indeed, every hour of the day produces some change in
the magical hues and shapes of these mountains; and they are
regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect
barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are
clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the
clear evening sky; but sometimes, when the rest of the landscape
is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors about their