ruly has Wordsworth expressed this idea:

'If there be one who need bemoan
His kindred laid in earth,
The household hearts that were his own,
It is the man of mirth.'

We are glad to know that in time Irving sought a better consolation.

But to return from this digression, or rather anticipation of our
subject. At the time of which we now write, New-York was comparatively a
small town; true, it was the chief commercial city in America, and yet
its limits proper could be described by a line drawn across the island
some distance below Canal street. Yet even then New-York was full of
life, and seemed to feel the promise of subsequent greatness. Her
streets echoed to the footsteps of men whom the present generation, with
all its progress, can not surpass. At Number 26 Broadway, might have
been daily seen the light-built but martial and elegant form of
Alexander Hamilton, while his mortal foe, Aaron Burr, as we have stated,
held his office in Partition street. John Jacob Astor was just becoming
an established and solid business man, and dwelt at 223 Broadway, the
present site of the Astor House, and which was one of the earliest
purchases which led to the greatest landed estate in America. Robert
Lenox lived in Broadway, near Trinity Church, and was building up that
splendid commerce which has made his son one of the chief city
capitalists. De Witt Clinton was a young and ambitious lawyer, full of
promise, whose office (he was just elected Mayor) was Number 1 Broadway.
Cadwallader D. Colden was pursuing his brilliant career, and might be
found immersed in law at Number 59 Wall street. Such were the legal and
political magnates of the day; while to slake the thirst of their
excited followers, Medcef Eden brewed ale in Gold street, and Janeway
carried on the same business in Magazine street; and his empty
establishment became notorious, in later years, as the 'Old Brewery.'

About this time young Irving was developing as one of the most
interesting youth of the city. His manners were soft without being
effeminate, his form finely molded, and his countenance singularly
beautiful. To this might be added the general opinion that he was
considerably gifted in the use of the pen. Yet with all these promising
features, the future was clothed with shadows, for his health was
failing, and his friends considered him too lovely a flower to last.
Little did his brothers and sisters think that that delicate youth
would, w