no man-envying no man-molested by no outward strifes -perplexed by no internal commotions ;-and the mighty monarchs of the earth, who were vainly seeking to maintain peace, and promote the welfare of mankind, by war and desolation, would have done well to have made a voyage to the little island of Manna-hata, and learned a lesson in government from the domestic economy of Peter Stuy

vesant.

In process of time, however, the old governor, like all other children of mortality, began to exhibit evident tokens of decay. Like an aged oak, which, though it long has braved the fury of the elements, and still retains its gigantic proportions, yet begins to shake and groan with every blast-so the gallant Peter, though he still bore the port and semblance of what he was in the days of his hardihood and chivalry, yet did age and infirmity begin to sap the vigour of his frame; but his heart, that most unconquerable citadel, still triumphed unsubdued. With matchless avidity would he listen to every article of intelligence concerning the battles between the English and Dutch. Still would his pulse beat high, whenever he heard of the victories of De Ruyter; and his countenance lower, and his eyebrows knit, when fortune turned in favour of the English. At length, as on a certain day, he had just smoked his fifth pipe, and was napping after dinner, in his arm-chair, conquering the whole British nation in his dreams, he was suddenly aroused by a fearful ringing of bells, rattling of drums, and roaring of cannon, that put all his blood in a ferment. But when he learnt, that these rejoicings were in honour of a great victory obtained by the combined English and French fleets, over the brave De Ruyter, and the younger Von Tromp, it went so much to his heart, that he took to his bed, and in less than three days, was brought to death's door, by a violent cholera morbus ! But even in this extremity, he still displayed the unconquerable spirit of Peter the Headstrong; holding

out, to the last gasp, with the most inflexible obstinacy, against a whole army of old women, who were bent upon driving the enemy out of his bowels, after a true Dutch mode of defence, by inundating the seat of war with catnip and pennyroyal.

While he thus lay, lingering on the verge of dissolution, news was brought him, that the brave Ruyter had suffered but little loss-had made good his retreat-and meant once more to meet the enemy in battle. The closing eye of the old warrior kindled at the words-he partly raised himself in bed-a flash of martial fire beamed across his visage-he clinched his withered hand, as if he felt within his gripe that sword which waved in triumph before the walls of Fort Christina, and giving a grim smile of exultation, sunk back upon his pillow, and expired.

Thus died Peter Stuyvesant, a valiant soldier, a loyal subject, an upright governor, and an honest Dutchman— who wanted only a few empires to desolate, to have been immortalized as a hero!

His funeral obsequies were celebrated with the utmost grandeur and solemnity. The town was perfectly emptied of its inhabitants, who crowded in throngs to pay the last sad honours to their good old governor. All his sterling qualities rushed in full tide upon their recollections, while the memory of his foibles, and his faults, had expired with him. The ancient burghers contended who should have the privilege of bearing the pall—the populace strove who should walk nearest to the bier-and the melancholy procession was closed by a number of gray-headed negroes, who had wintered and summered in the household of their departed master, for the greater part of a century.

With sad and gloomy countenances, the multitude gathered round the grave. They dwelt with mournful hearts on the sturdy virtues, the signal services, and the gallant exploits of the brave old worthy. They recalled, with secret upbraidings, their own factious oppositions to his go

vernment—and many an ancient burgher, whose phlegmatic features had never been known to relax, nor his eyes to moisten, was now observed to puff a pensive pipe, and the big drop to steal down his cheek-while he muttered, with affectionate accent, and melancholy shake of the head -"Well den !-Hard-koppig Peter ben gone at last."

His remains were deposited in the family vault, under a chapel, which he had piously erected on his estate, and dedicated to St. Nicholas-and which stood on the identical spot at present occupied by St. Mark's Church, where his tombstone is still to be seen. His estate, or Bouwery, as it was called, has ever continued in the possession of his descendants; who, by the uniform integrity of their conduct, and their strict adherence to the customs and manners that prevailed in the "good old times," have proved themselves worthy of their illustrious ancestor. Many a time and oft, has the farm been haunted at night by enterprizing money-diggers, in quest of pots of gold, said to have been buried by the old governor-though I cannot learn that any of them have ever been enriched by their researches and who is there, among my native-born fellow-citizens, that does not remember, when in the mischievous days of his boyhood, he conceived it a great exploit, to rob "Stuyvesant's orchard" on a holiday afternoon?

At this strong hold of the family may still be seen certain memorials of the immortal Peter. His full length portrait frowns in martial terrors from the parlour wallhis cocked-hat and sword still hang up in the best bedroom. His brimstone-coloured breeches were for a long while suspended in the hall, until some years since they occasioned a dispute between a new married couple. And his silver mounted wooden-leg is still treasured up in the store-room, as an invaluable relique.

CHAPTER X.

The Author's reflections upon what has been said.

AMONG the numerous events, which are each in their turn, the most direful and melancholy of all possible occurrences, in your interesting and authentic history, there is none that occasions such deep and heart-rending grief, as the decline and fall of your renowned and mighty empires. Where is the reader who can contemplate without emotion, the disastrous events by which the great dynasties of the world have been extinguished? While wandering, in imagination, among the gigantic ruins of states and empires, and marking the tremendous convulsions that wrought their overthrow, the bosom of the melancholy inquirer swells with sympathy commensurate to the surrounding desolation. Kingdoms, principalities, and powers, have each had their rise, their progress, and their downfal-each in its turn has swayed a potent sceptreeach has returned to its primeval nothingness ;-and thus did it fare with the empire of their high mightinesses, at the Manhattoes, under the peaceful reign of Walter the Doubter-the fretful reign of William the Testy-and the chivalric reign of Peter the Headstrong.

Its history is fruitful of instruction, and worthy of being pondered over attentively; for it is by thus raking among the ashes of departed greatness, that the sparks of true knowledge are found, and the lamp of wisdom illumined. Let then the reign of Walter the Doubter warn against yielding to that sleek, contented security, that overweening fondness for comfort and repose, that are produced by a state of prosperity and peace. These tend to unnerve a nation, to destroy its pride of character; to render it patient of insult, deaf to the calls of honour and of justice;

and cause it to cling to peace, like the sluggard to his pillow, at the expense of every valuable duty and consideration. Such supineness insures the very evil from which it shrinks. One right yielded up, produces the usurpation of a second; one encroachment passively suffered, makes way for another; and the nation that thus, through a doting love of peace, has sacrificed honour and interest, will at length have to fight for existence.

Let the disastrous reign of William the Testy serve as a salutary warning against that fitful, feverish mode of legislation, that acts without system; depends on shifts and projects, and trusts to lucky contingencies; that hesitates, and wavers, and at length decides with the rashness of ignorance and imbecility. That stoops for popularity by courting the prejudices, and flattering the arrogance, rather than commanding the respect of the rabble. That seeks safety in a multitude of counsellors, and distracts itself by a variety of contradictory schemes and opinions. That mistakes procrastination for deliberate wariness-hurry for decision-starveling parsimony for wholesome economy-bustle for business-and vapouring for valour. That is violent in council, sanguine in expectation, precipitate in action, and feeble in execution. That undertakes enterprizes without forethought, enters upon them without preparation, conducts them without energy, and ends them in confusion and defeat.

Let the reign of the good Stuyvesant show the effects of vigour and decision, even when destitute of cool judgment, and surrounded by perplexities. Let it show how frankness, probity, and high-souled courage will command respect, and secure honour, even where success is unattainable. But, at the same time, let it caution against a too ready reliance on the good faith of others, and a too honest confidence in the loving professions of powerful neighbours, who are most friendly when they most mean to betray. Let it teach a judicious attention to the opi