"THEY made her a grave too cold and damp

For a soul so warm and true;

And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long, by a firefly lamp,

She paddles her white canoe.

And her firefly lamp I soon shall see,
And her paddle I soon shall hear;
Long and loving our life shall be,
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
When the footstep of Death is near."

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds;
His path was rugged and sore
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.

And when on the earth he sank to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,

He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear, and nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew.

And near him the she wolf stirred the brake,
And the copper snake breathed in his ear;
Till, starting, he cried, from his dream awake,
"O, when shall I see the dusky lake,

And the white canoe of my dear?"

He saw the lake, and a meteor bright
Quick over its surface played;

"Welcome," he said, " my dear one's light,"
And the dim shore echoed, for many a night,
The name of the death-cold maid.

Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from shore;

Far, far he followed the meteor spark ;
The wind was high, and the clouds were dark,
And the boat returned no more.

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp,

This lover and maid so true

Are seen, at the hour of midnight damp,
To cross the lake by a firefly lamp,
And paddle their white canoe.

XVII. A VISIT TO THE VILLAGE OF BROEK.*

WASHINGTON IRVING.

[Washington Irving, the most popular of American writers, has for some years past resided on the banks of the Hudson River, about twenty-five miles from New York. The following extract is from his Wolfert's Roost, a collection of tales, essays, and sketches, which originally appeared in the Knickerbocker Magazine.]

THE village of Broek is about four miles from Amsterdam, in the midst of the greenest and richest pastures of Holland -I may say of Europe. These pastures are the source of its wealth; for it is famous for its dairies, and for those oval cheeses which regale and perfume the whole civilized world. The population consists of about six hundred persons, comprising several families which have inhabited the place since time immemorial, and have waxed rich on the produce of their meadows. They keep all their wealth to themselves; intermarrying, and holding strangers at a wary distance.

What, however, renders Broek so perfect a paradise in the eyes of all true Hollanders is the matchless height to which the spirit of cleanliness is carried there. It amounts almost to a religion among the inhabitants, who pass the greater part of their time in rubbing, and painting, and varnishing. Each

* Pronounced Brook.

housewife vies with her neighbor in her devotion to the scrubbing brush; and it is said that a notable housewife of the place, in days of yore, is still held in pious remembrance, for having died of pure exhaustion and chagrin in an ineffectual attempt to scour a black man white.

These particulars awakened my ardent curiosity to see a place which I pictured to myself the very fountain head of certain hereditary habits and customs prevalent among the descendants of the original Dutch settlers of my native state of New York. I accordingly lost no time in performing a pilgrimage to Broek.

Before I reached the place, I beheld symptoms of the tranquil character of its inhabitants. A little clump-built boat was in full sail along the lazy bosom of a canal, but its sail consisted of the blades of two paddles standing on end, while the navigator sat steering with a third paddle in the stern, crouched down like a toad, with a slouched hat drawn over his eyes. After proceeding a little farther, I came in sight of the harbor, or port of destination, of this drowsy navigator. This was an artificial basin, or sheet of olive-green water, tranquil as a mill pond. On this the village of Broek is situated; and the borders are laboriously decorated with flower beds, box trees clipped into all kinds of ingenious shapes and fancies, and little pleasure houses, or pavilions. I alighted outside of the village, for no horse or vehicle is permitted to enter its precincts. Shaking the dust off my feet, therefore, I prepared to enter, with due reverence and circumspection, this shrine of Dutch cleanliness. I passed in by a narrow street, paved with yellow bricks, laid edgewise, and so clean that one might eat from them. Indeed, they were actually worn deep, not by the tread of feet, but by the friction of the scrubbing brush.

The houses were built of wood, and all appeared to have been freshly painted, of green, yellow, and other bright colors. They were separated from each other by gardens and orchards, and stood at some little distance from the street, with wide areas, or court yards, paved in mosaic with variegated stones,

polished by frequent rubbing. The areas were divided from the street by curiously wrought railings, or balustrades of iron, surmounted with brass and copper balls, scoured into dazzling effulgence.

The very trunks of the trees in front of the houses were by the same process made to look as if they had been varnished. The porches, doors, and window frames of the houses were of exotic woods, curiously carved, and polished like costly furniture. The front doors are never opened, except for christenings, marriages, or funerals; on all ordinary occasions, visitors enter by the back door. In former times, persons when admitted had to put on slippers; but this Oriental custom is no longer insisted upon.

I walked about the place in mute wonder and admiration. A dead stillness prevailed around, like that in the deserted streets of Pompeii. No sign of life was to be seen, except now and then a hand, and a long pipe, and an occasional puff of smoke, out of the window of some pleasure house overhanging a miniature canal; and on approaching nearer, the portly presence of some substantial burgher.

After having been conducted from one wonder to another of the village, I was ushered by my guide into the grounds and gardens of Mynheer* Broekker, a mighty cheese manufacturer, of large fortune. I had repeatedly been struck with the similarity of all I had seen in this amphibious little village to the buildings and landscapes on Chinese plates and teapots; but here I found the resemblance complete, for I was told these gardens were modelled after a Dutch traveller's description of those of a Chinese mandarin. Here were serpentine walks, with trellised borders; winding canals, with fanciful Chinese bridges; flower beds resembling huge baskets, with flowers falling over to the ground.

But the owner's fancy had been chiefly displayed about a stagnant little lake, on which a corpulent pinnace lay at anchor. On the border was a cottage, within which were a wooden man

*Mynheer, the Dutch word for Mister.

and woman seated at a table, and a wooden dog beneath, all the size of life: on pressing a spring, the woman commenced spinning, and the dog barked furiously. On the lake were wooden swans, painted to the life; some floating, others on the nest among the rushes, while a wooden sportsman, crouched among the bushes, was preparing his gun to take deadly aim.

In another part of the garden was a dominie* in his clerical robes, with wig, pipe, and cocked hat; and mandarins with nodding heads, amid red lions, green tigers, and blue hares. Last of all, the heathen deities, in wood and plaster, male and female, seeming to stare with wonder at finding themselves in such strange company.

To attempt to gain admission to any of these stately abodes was out of the question. I was fortunate enough, however, through the aid of my guide, to make my way into the kitchen of one of them; and I question whether the parlor would have proved more worthy of observation. The cook, a little wiry woman, worn thin by incessant action and friction, was bustling about among her saucepans and kettles, with the scullion at her

heels, both clattering in wooden shoes, which were as clean and white as the milk-pails; rows of vessels, of brass and copper, regiments of pewter dishes and portly porringers, gave resplendent evidence of the intensity of their cleanliness. The very trammels and hangers in the fireplace were highly scoured, and the burnished face of the good St. Nicholas shone forth from the iron plate of the chimney back.

I must not omit to mention that this village is the paradise of cows as well as of men; indeed, you would almost suppose the cow to be an object of worship here; and well does she merit it, for she is in fact the patroness of the place. The same scrupulous cleanness, however, which pervades every thing else, is manifested in the treatment of this venerated animal. She is not permitted to roam about the place; but in

* Dominie, a title given to a clergyman among the descendants of the Dutch in New York.