d, and indulge the sweets of domestic
and rural life, which of all things lay nearest his heart. And these
two undertakings compelled him to be diligent with his pen to the end of
his life. The spot he chose for his "Roost" was a little farm on the
bank of the river at Tarrytown, close to his old Sleepy Hollow haunt,
one of the loveliest, if not the most picturesque, situations on the
Hudson. At first he intended nothing more than a summer retreat,
inexpensive and simply furnished. But his experience was that of all who
buy, and renovate, and build. The farm had on it a small stone Dutch
cottage, built about a century before, and inhabited by one of the Van
Tassels. This was enlarged, still preserving the quaint Dutch
characteristics; it acquired a tower and a whimsical weathercock, the
delight of the owner ("it was brought from Holland by Gill Davis, the
King of Coney Island, who says he got it from a windmill which they were
demolishing at the gate of Rotterdam, which windmill has been mentioned
in 'Knickerbocker'"), and became one of the most snug and picturesque
residences on the river. When the slip of Melrose ivy, which was
brought over from Scotland by Mrs. Renwick and given to the author, had
grown and well overrun it, the house, in the midst of sheltering groves
and secluded walks, was as pretty a retreat as a poet could desire. But
the little nook proved to have an insatiable capacity for swallowing up
money, as the necessities of the author's establishment increased: there
was always something to be done to the grounds; some alterations in the
house; a green-house, a stable, a gardener's cottage, to be built,--and
to the very end the outlay continued. The cottage necessitated economy
in other personal expenses, and incessant employment of his pen. But
Sunnyside, as the place was named, became the dearest spot on earth to
him; it was his residence, from which he tore himself with reluctance,
and to which he returned with eager longing; and here, surrounded by
relatives whom he loved, he passed nearly all the remainder of his
years, in as happy conditions, I think, as a bachelor ever enjoyed. His
intellectual activity was unremitting, he had no lack of friends, there
was only now and then a discordant note in the general estimation of his
literary work, and he was the object of the most tender care from his
nieces. Already, he writes, in October, 1838, "my little cottage is well
stocked. I have Ebenezer's five gi
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