ers, the
names of Irving and Matilda will be united in the loveliest and most
romantic of associations.

I have prolonged this reminiscence to an unexpected length, and yet can
not close without a few additional thoughts which grow out of the
perusal of the biography. Perhaps the chief of these is the nationality
of Irving's character, particularly while a resident of Europe. Neither
the pungent bitterness of the British press nor the patronage of the
aristocracy could abate the firmness with which he upheld the dignity of
his country. He was not less her representative when a struggling author
in Liverpool or London than when Secretary of Legation at the Court of
St. James, or Ambassador at Madrid. His first appearance abroad was at a
time of little foreign travel, and an American was an object of remark
and observation. His elegant simplicity reflected honor upon his native
land, and amid all classes, and in all places, love of country ruled
him. This high tone pervaded his views of public duty. A gross defaulter
having been mentioned in his presence, he replied, that 'next to robbing
one's father it is, to rob one's country.'

It is also worthy of note that while Irving lived to unusual fullness of
years, yet he never was considered an old man. We do not so much refer
to his erect and vigorous frame as to the freshness of his mind. It is
said that Goethe, on being asked the definition of a poet, replied: 'One
who preserves to old age the feelings of youth.' Such was a leading
feature in Mr. Irving's spirit, which, notwithstanding his shadowed
hours, was so buoyant and cheerful. His countenance was penseroso when
in repose, and allegro in action, and these graces clung to him even in
life's winter, like the flower at the base of the glacier.

Among the varied elements which constituted Irving's popularity, one of
them might have been the beauty of his name, whose secret is revealed by
the laws of prosody. Washington is a stately _dactyl_; Irving is a sweet
and mellow _spondee_, and thus we have a combination which poets in
ancient and modern days have sought with sedulous care, and which should
close every line of hexameter verse. Hence a measure such, as that found
in 'Washington Irving' terminates every line in _Evangeline_, or the
works of Virgil, thus:

'Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline _went from the mission_,
When, over green ways, by long and _perilous marches_,
She had attained at length the d