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1Author:  Paulding James Kirke 1778-1860Add
 Title:  The Dutchman's fireside  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | Harper's library of select novels | harpers library of select novels 
 Description: “Somewhere about the time of the old French war,” there resided on the rich border that skirts the Hudson, not a hundred miles from the good city of Albany, a family of some distinction, which we shall call Vancour, consisting of three brothers whose names were Egbert, Dennis, and Ariel, or Auriel as it was pronounced by the Dutch of that day. They were the sons of one of the earliest as well as most respectable of the emigrants from Holland, and honourably sustained the dignity of their ancestry, by sturdy integrity, liberal hospitality, and a generous public spirit.
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2Author:  Paulding James Kirke 1778-1860Add
 Title:  The Dutchman's fireside  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | Harper's library of select novels | harpers library of select novels 
 Description: Much has been sung and written of the charms of the glorious Hudson—its smiling villages, its noble cities, its magnificent banks, and its majestic waters. The inimitable Knickerbocker, the graphic Cooper, and a thousand less celebrated writers and tourists have delighted to luxuriate in descriptions of its rich fields, its flowery meadows, whispering groves, and cloud-capped mountains, until its name is become synonymous with all the beautiful and sublime of nature. Associated as are these beauties with our earliest recollections, and nearest, dearest friends —entwined as they inseparably are with memorials of the past, anticipations of the future, we too would offer our humble tribute. But the theme has been exhausted by hands that snatched the pencil from nature herself, and nothing is left for us but to repress the feelings of our swelling hearts by silent musings.
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