as useless vermin are created for
the sustenance of spiders; and spiders, on the other hand, are evidently
made to devour flies. So those heroes who have been such scourges to the
world were bounteously provided as themes for the poet and historian,
while the poet and the historian were destined to record the achievements
of heroes!

These and many similar reflections naturally arose in my mind as I took up
my pen to commence the reign of William Kieft; for now the stream of our
history, which hitherto has rolled in a tranquil current, is about to
depart, for ever from its peaceful haunts, and brawl through many a
turbulent and rugged scene.

As some sleek ox, sunk in the rich repose of a clover field, dozing and
chewing the cud, will bear repeated blows before it raises itself, so the
province of Nieuw Nederlandts, having waxed fat under the drowsy reign of
the Doubter, needed cuffs and kicks to rouse it into action. The reader
will now witness the manner in which a peaceful community advances towards
a state of war; which is apt to be like the approach of a horse to a drum,
with much prancing and little progress, and too often with the wrong end
foremost.

Wilhelmus Kieft, who in 1634 ascended the gubernatorial chair, to borrow a
favorite though clumsy appellation of modern phraseologists, was of a
lofty descent, his father being inspector of windmills in the ancient town
of Saardam; and our hero, we are told, when a boy, made very curious
investigations into the nature and operation of these machines, which was
one reason why he afterwards came to be so ingenious a governor. His name,
according to the most authentic etymologists, was a corruption of Kyver;
that is to say, a wrangler or scolder; and expressed the characteristic of
his family, which for nearly two centuries had kept the windy town of
Saardam in hot water, and produced more tartars and brimstones than any
ten families in the place; and so truly did he inherit this family
peculiarity that he had not been a year in the government of the province
before he was universally denominated William the Testy. His appearance
answered to his name. He was a brisk, wiry, waspish little old gentleman,
such a one as may now and then be seen stumping about our city in a
broad-skirted coat with huge buttons, a cocked hat stuck on the back of
his head, and a cane as high as his chin. His face was broad, but his
features were sharp; his cheeks were scorched into a dusky