of the poniard!1 To finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse! He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer! It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder; no eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it is safe!

Ah! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds every thing as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that "murder will out." True it is that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of Heaven by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance connected with the time and place; a thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds in

1 poniard. Equivalent to what

word previously used?

4 bestow. Define.

5 that eye. Explain.

6 hath . . . doth. The statement

2 He feels. ... done. The staccato of these short sentences height-acquires added impressiveness from ens the effect of the narrative. the use of the ancient form of the verb.

3 no eye... him. How much more vivid is this figurative form than the plain expression no person!

7 a thousand eyes. What is the figure of speech?

tensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery.

1

Meantime the guilty soul can not keep its own secret. It is false to itself, or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God or man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance either from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him; and, like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed there is no refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession.

1 Meantime the guilty soul, etc. We have here a remarkably fine piece of psychological analysis. 2 evil spirits, etc. Explain.

3 It betrays . . prudence. What kind of sentence?

4 the net... burst forth. Is this plain or figurative language?

IX. WASHINGTON IRVING.

LIFE AND WORKS.

WASHINGTON IRVING, the first American to attain to distinctive literary eminence after the close of the Revolutionary war,-"the first ambassador whom the New World of letters sent to the Old," as Thackeray aptly styles him, was born in the city of New York, April 3, 1783, a little more than a century ago. The war for independence had just been brought to its close, and the future biographer of the leader of the American armies in that war was fitly christened Washington.

Little noteworthy characterized Irving's childhood and youth. He left school in his sixteenth year, and began the study of law; but his taste was for literature, and when yet in his teens he began to write fugitive pieces for the press. Being threatened with consumption, he in 1804 visited Europe, spending some time in Italy. He had some thoughts of becoming a painter, but was soon satisfied that his talent was not for art.

When twenty-six years of age, Irving published his sprightly, graceful, and facetious History of New York, from the Beginning of the World to the End of the Dutch Dynasty by Diedrich Knickerbocker. This work gained him immediate reputation at home and abroad.

For the next four or five years Irving was engaged in magazine and miscellaneous writing, and in 1815 he crossed the sea a second time. He had become a silent partner in the mercantile business of his brothers; and this voyage was undertaken partly for pur

poses of trade, and partly for recreation in travel, to which he had a strong natural bent. But Irving's sojourn in Europe was destined to be greatly prolonged. During his absence his brothers failed in business; and, his supplies being thus cut off, he was obliged to take up literary labors to maintain himself.

Irving had come to feel much at home in England. He had been cordially received by literary people there: Campbell was his friend, so was Moore, so was Scott; and in that city the applause of the great lights of authorship was almost a necessity to any young aspirant for literary honors. During the seventeen years of his residence abroad he wrote and published many of his most successful works, receiving handsome royalties from the publishers.

In 1832 Irving returned to America the acknowledged chief of American men of letters. Three years later he purchased an estate on the Hudson, about twenty-five miles above New York, a spot made memorable as the scene of his Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and called by him "Sunnyside." In 1842 Irving was appointed minister to Spain, an honor for which he was indebted to Daniel Webster, then secretary of state, -and passed the succeeding four years in Madrid. His diplomatic service having terminated, he resumed authorship in his home on the Hudson, where he passed the remainder of his days. He died at "Sunnyside," of heart-disease, November 28, 1859.

To Irving's residence and researches in Spain we owe The Alhambra, Legends of the Conquest of Spain, Conquest of Granada, and his Life and Voyages of Columbus.

In biography he produced Mahomet and his Successors, the Life of Goldsmith, and the Life of Washington. Among tales and sketches we have Bracebridge Hall, Tales of a Traveler, Wolfert's Roost, and the delightful collection comprised in his Sketch-Book. The SketchBook contains Rip Van Winkle and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, which are the most original of all his creations.

In private life Irving was very even-tempered, hospitable, genial, and generous, with an almost feminine delicacy of manners and conversation. Thackeray, who had met him several times, says of Irving, "He was most finished, polished, easy, and witty. In his family, gentle, generous, good-humored, affectionate, self-denying; in society, a delightful example of complete gentlemanhood, quite unspoiled by prosperity, never obsequious to the great; eager to acknowledge every contemporary's merit; always kind and affable with the young members of his calling; an exemplar of goodness, probity, and a pure life. The gate of his charming little domain on the beautiful Hudson River was for ever swinging before visitors who came to him. He shut no one out. How came it that this house was so small, when Mr. Irving's books were sold by hundreds of thousands-nay, millions; when his profits were known to be large, and the habits of life of the good old bachelor were notoriously modest and simple? He had loved once in his life. The lady he loved died, and he whom all the world loved never sought to replace her. He could only live very modestly, because the wifeless, childless man had a number of children to whom he was as a father. He had as