University of Virginia Library

HUDSON.

“A very respectable town, or rather city,” says
Alderman Janson: “so called after the renowned
Hendrick Hudson of blessed memory. It is opposite
to Athens, and ought to have been noticed immediately
after it. But if the traveller wishes particularly to view
the city, he has only to mention his desire, and the
steam boat will turn back with him, for they are very
obliging. Hudson furnishes one of those examples of
rapid growth so common and so peculiar to our country.
It goes back no farther than 1786, and is said now to
contain nearly 2000 inhabitants. But towns, like children,
are very apt to grow more in the few first years, than
all their lives after. But Hudson has a bank, which is
a sort of wet nurse to these little towns, giving them too
often a precocious growth, which is followed by a permanent
debility. The town is beautifully situated,
and the environs of the most picturesque and romantic
description. There are several pretty country seats
in the neighbourhood. Here ends, according to the

law of nature, the ship navigation of the river; but
by a law of the legislature, a company has been incorporated
with a capital of 1,000,000 of dollars—how
easy it is to coin money in this way!—to make a canal
to New Baltimore; for what purpose, only legislative
wisdom can explain. There was likewise an incorporated
company, to build a mud machine for deepening
the river. But the river is no deeper than it was, and
the canal to New Baltimore is not made, probably because
the million of dollars is not forthcoming. One
may pay too dear for a canal as well as a whistle. That
canals are far better than rivers, is not to be doubted;
but as we get our rivers for nothing, and pay pretty
dearly for our canals, I would beg leave to represent in
behalf of the poor rivers, that they are entitled to some
little consideration, if it is only on the score of coming
as free gifts. Hudson is said to be very much infested
with politicians, a race of men, who though they have
never been classed among those who live by their own
wits, and the little wit of their neighbours, certainly
belong to the genus.”

From hence to Albany the Hudson gradually decreases
in magnitude, changing its character of a
mighty river for that of a pleasant pastoral stream. The
high banks gradually subside into rich flats, portentous of
Dutchmen, who light on them as certainly as do the
snipes and plovers. “Wisely despising,” observes
Alderman Janson, “the barren mountains which are
only made to look at, they passed on up the river from
Fort Amsterdam, till they arrived hereabouts, and here
they pitched their tents. Their descendants still retain

possession of the seats of their ancestors, though sorely
beset by the march of the human mind, and the progress
of public improvement on one hand, and on the other
by interlopers from the modern Scythia, the cradle of the
human race in the new world, Connecticut. These last,
by their pestilent scholarship, and mischievous contrivances
of patent ploughs, patent threshing machines,
patent corn shellers, and patent churns, for the encouragement
of domestic industry, have gone near to
overset all the statutes of St. Nicholas. The honest
burghers of Coeymans, Coxsackie and New Paltz, still
hold out manfully; but alas! the women—the women
are prone to backslidings, and hankering after novelties.
A Dutch damsel cant, for her heart, resist a Connecticut
schoolmaster with his rosy cheeks and store of
scholarship; and even honest yffrow herself chuckles a
little amatory Dutch at his approach; simpering mightily
thereat and stroking down her apron. A goose betrayed
—no I am wrong—a goose once saved the capitol of
Rome; and it is to be feared a woman will finally betray
the citadels of Coeymans, Coxsackie and New Paltz,
to the schoolmasters of Connecticut, who circumvent
them with outlandish scholarship. These speculations,”
quoth the worthy alderman,[9] “remind me of the mishap
of my unfortunate great uncle, Douw Van Wezel, who
sunk under the star of one of these wandering Homers.

“Douw, and little Alida Vander Spiegle, had been
playmates since their infancy—I was going to say
schoolmates, but at that time there was no such thing
as a school, so far as I can learn in the neighbourhood,
to teach the young varlets to chalk naughty words on
walls and fences, which is all that learning is good for,
for aught I see. Douw was no scholar, so there was

no danger of his getting into the state prison for forgery;
but it requires but little learning to fall in love. Alida
had however staid a whole winter in York, where she
learned to talk crooked English, and cock her pretty
little pug nose at our good old customs. They were the
only offspring of their respective parents, whose farms
lay side by side, squinting plainly at matrimony between
the young people. Douw and Alida, went to church together
every Sunday; wandered into the church yard,
where Alida read the epitaphs for him; and it was the
talk of every body that it would certainly be a match.
Douw was a handsome fellow for a Dutchman, though
he lacked that effeminate ruddiness which seduces poor
ignorant women. He had a stout frame, a bluish complexion,
strait black hair, eyes of the colour of indigo,
and as honest a pair of old fashioned mahogany bannister
legs, as you would wish to see under a man. It
was worth while to make good legs then, when every
man wore breeches, and some of the women too, if
report is to be credited. Alida was the prettiest little
Dutch damsel that ever had her stocking filled with
cakes on new year's eve, by the blessed St. Nicholas.
I will not describe her, lest my readers should all fall in
love with her, or at all events weep themselves into
Saratoga fountains, when they come to hear of the disastrous
fate of poor Douw, whose destiny it was—but
let us have no anticipations; sufficient for the day is the
evil thereof.

“It was new year's eve, and Douw was invited to
see out the old year at Judge Vander Spiegle's, in the
honest old Dutch way, under the special patronage of

St. Nicholas, to whom whoever fails in due honour and
allegiance, this be his fate: never to sip the dew from
the lips of the lass he loveth best on new year's eve, or
new year's morn; never to taste of hot spiced Santa
Cruz; and never to know the delights of mince pies and
sausages, swimming in the sauce of honest mirth, and
homefelt jollity. St. Nicholas! thrice jolly St. Nicholas!
Bacchus of Christian Dutchmen, king of good
fellows, patron of holiday fare, inspirer of simple frolic
and unsophisticated happiness, saint of all saints that
deck the glorious calender! thou that first awakenest the
hopes of the prattling infant; dawnest anticipated happiness
on the school boy; and brightenest the wintry
hours of manhood, if I forget thee whatever betide, or
whatever fantastic, heartless follies may usurp the
place of thy simple celebration, may I lose with the
recollection of past pleasures, the anticipation of pleasures
to come, yawn at a tea party, petrify at a soiree,
and perish, finally overwhelmed, in a deluge of whip
syllabub and floating island! Thrice, and three times
thrice, jolly St. Nicholas! on this, the first day of the
new year 1826, with an honest reverence and a full
bumper of cherry bounce, I salute thee! Io St. Nicholas!
Esto perpetua!

“There were glorious doings at the judge's among the
young folks, and the old ones too, for that matter, till
one or two or perhaps three in the morning, when the
visiters got into their sleighs and skirred away home
leaving Douw and the fair Alida, alone, or as good as
alone, for the judge and the yffrow, were as sound as a
church, in the two chimney corners. If wine, and

French liqueurs, and such trumpery make a man gallant
and adventurous, what will not hot spiced Santa Cruz
achieve? Douw was certainly a little flustered—perhaps
it might be predicated of him that he was as it were
a little tipsey. Certain it is he waxed brave as a Dutch
lion. I'll not swear but that he put his arm round her
waist, and kissed the little Dutch girl—but I will swear
positively that before the parties knew whether they
were standing on their heads or feet, they had exchanged
vows, and became irrevocably engaged. Whereupon
Douw waked the old judge, and asked his consent on
the spot. `Yaw, yaw'—yawned the judge, and fell fast
asleep again in a twinkling. Nothing but the last trumpet
would rouse the yffrow till morning.

“In the morning, the good yffrow was let into the
affair, and began to bestir herself accordingly. I
cannot count the sheets, and table cloths, and towels,
the good woman mustered out, nor describe the
preparations made for the expected wedding. There
was a cake baked, as big as Kaatskill Mountain, and
mince pies enough to cover it. There were cakes of a
hundred nameless names, and sweet meats enough to
kill a whole village. All was preparation, anticipation,
and prognostication. A Dutch tailor had constructed
Douw a suit of snuff colour, that made him look like a
great roll of leaf tobacco; and a York milliner had exercised
her skill in the composition of a wedding dress
for Alida, that made the hair of the girls of Coeymans,
and Coxsackie stand on end. All was ready and the
day appointed. But alas! I wonder no one has yet had
the sagacity to observe, and proclaim to the world, that

all things in this life are uncertain, and that the anticipations
of youth are often disappointed.

“Just three weeks before the wedding, there appeared
in the village of Coxsackie a young fellow, dressed
in a three cornered cocked hat, a queue at least a yard
long hanging from under it, tied up in an eel skin, a
spruce blue coat, not much the worse for wear, a red
waistcoat, corderoy breeches, handsome cotton stockings
with a pair of good legs in them, and pumps with
silver buckles. His arrival was like the shock of an
earthquake, he being the first stranger that had appeared
within the memory of man. He was of a goodly height,
well shaped, and had a pair of rosy cheeks, which no
Dutch damsel ever could resist, for to say the truth, our
Dutch lads are apt to be a little dusky in the Epidermis.

“He gave out that he was come to set up a school,
and teach the little chubby Dutch boys and girls English.
The men set their faces against this monstrous innovavation;
but the women! the women! they always will
run after novelty, and they ran after the schoolmaster,
his red cheeks and his red waistcoat. Yffrow Vander
Spiegle, contested the empire of the world within doors
with his honour the judge, and bore a divided reign.
She was smitten with a desire to become a blue stocking
herself or at least that her daughter should. The yffrow
was the bell weather of fashion in the village; of course
many other yffrows followed her example, and in a little
time the lucky schoolmaster was surrounded by half the
grown up damsels of Coxsackie.

“Alida soon became distinguished as his favourite
scholar; she was the prettiest, the richest girl in the

school—and she could talk English, which the others
were only just learning. He taught her to read poetry
—he taught her to talk with her eyes—to write love
letters—and at last to love. Douw was a lost man the
moment the schoolmaster came into the village. He
first got the blind side of the daughter, and then of the
yffrow—but he found it rather a hard matter to get the
blind side of the judge, who had heard from his brother
in Albany, what pranks these Connecticut boys were
playing there. He discouraged the schoolmaster; and
he encouraged Douw to press his suit, which Alida had
put off, and put off, from time to time. She was sick—
—and not ready—and indifferent—and sometimes as
cross as a little d—l. Douw smoked his pipe harder
than ever at her—but she resisted like a heroine.

“In those times of cheap simplicity, it was the custom
of the country for the schoolmaster to board alternately
with the parents of his scholars, a week or a
fortnight at a time, and it is recorded of these learned
Thebans, that they always staid longest where there was a
pretty daughter, and plenty of pies and sweetmeats. The
time at last came round, when it was the schoolmaster's
turn to sojourn with Judge Vander Spiegle the allotted
fortnight, sorely to the gloomy forebodements of Douw,
who began to have a strong suspicion of the cause
of Alida's coldness. The schoolmaster knew which
side his bread was buttered, and laid close siege to the
yffrow, by praising her good things, exalting her consequence,
and depressing that of her neighbours. Nor
did he neglect the daughter, whom he plied with poetry,
melting looks, significant squeezes, and all that—although

all that was quite unnecessary, for she was ready
to run away with him at any time. But this did not
suit our Homer; he might be divorced from the acres,
if he married without the consent of the judge. He
however continued to administer fuel to the flame, and
never missed abusing poor Douw to his face, without
the latter being the wiser for it, he not understanding a
word of English.

“By degrees he opened the matter to the yffrow,
who liked it exceedingly, for she was, as we said before,
inclined to the mysteries of blue stockingism, and
was half in love with his red waistcoat and red cheeks.
Finally, she told him, in a significant way, that as there
was two to one in his favour, and the old judge would,
she knew, never consent to the marriage while he could
help it, the best thing he could do was to go and get
married as soon as possible, and she would bear them
out. That very night Douw became a disconsolate
widower, although, poor fellow, he did not know of it
till the next morning. The judge stormed and swore,
and the yffrow talked, till at length he allowed them to
come and live in the house, but with the proviso that
they were never to speak to him, nor he to them. A
little grandson in process of time, healed all these internal
divisions. They christened him Adrian Vander
Spiegle, after his grandfather, and when it came to pass
that the old patriarch died, the estate passed from the
Vander Spiegles to the Longfellows, after the manner
of men.

“Poor Douw grew melancholy, and pondered sometimes
whether he should not bring his action for breach

of promise, fly the country forever, turn Methodist, or
marry under the nose of the faithless Alida, `on purpose
to spite her.' He finally decided on the latter,
married a little Dutch brunette from Kinderhook, and
prospered mightily in posterity, as did also his neighbour,
Philo Longfellow. But it was observed, that the
little Van Wezels and the little Longfellows never met
without fighting; and that as they grew up, this hostility
gathered additional bitterness. In process of time, the
village became divided into two factions, which gradually
spread wherever the Yankees and the Dutch mixed
together; and finally, like the feuds of the Guelphs
and Ghibelines, divided the land for almost a hundred
miles round.”