filled; the old
man fell asleep, full of years and of honors, going to the grave like a
shock of corn in its season. His funeral was one of imposing simplicity,
and he was buried just at the entrance of that church where he had been
so long a faithful attendant.

Mrs. Irving, who survived him several years, was of a different type of
character, which, by its peculiar contrast, seemed to perfect the
harmony of a well-matched union. She was of elegant shape, with large
English features, which were permeated by an indescribable life and
beauty. Her manners were full of action, and her conversational powers
were of a high order. All of these graces appeared in the children, and
were united with the vigor of intellect which marked the character of
the father.

It would have been surprising if the offspring of such a union should
not have been distinguished, and it is only the peculiar relation which
the biographer sustains to it which prevents him from bringing this
feature out more prominently.

It was, however, acknowledged, at an early day, that the family of
William Irving had no equal in the city, and when we consider its
number, its personal beauty, its moral excellence, its varied talents,
without a single deficient or unworthy member, we can not wonder at the
general admiration which it commanded. From the eldest son, William, and
Ann, the eldest daughter, whom her father fondly termed Nancy, to
Washington, the youngest, all were endowed with beauty, grace,
amiability, and talent, yet in the latter they seemed to effloresce with
culminating fullness. Nancy Irving was the cynosure of William street,
concerning whose future destiny many a youth might have confessed an
impassioned interest. Her brother William had become connected
commercially with a young revolutionary soldier, (General Dodge,) who
had opened a trading-station on the Mohawk frontier, and the latter bore
away the sister as his bride. The union was one of happiness, and lasted
twenty years, when it was terminated by her death. Of this, Washington
thus speaks, in a letter in 1808: 'On the road, as I was traveling in
high spirits, with the idea of home to inspire me, I had the shock of
reading an account of my dear sister's death, and never was a blow
struck so near my heart before.... One more heart lies cold and still
that ever beat toward me with the warmest affection, for she was the
tenderest, best of sisters, and a woman of whom a brother might be