ce of the Salmagundi papers a new idea
suggested itself to Irving and his brother Peter, which in its
original form does not look especially promising. It was to develop
into a really remarkable work, and to place Irving's name in a secure
place among living humorists. The "Knickerbocker History of New York"
really laid the foundation of his fame. The first plan was for a mere
burlesque of an absurd book just published, a Dr. Samuel Mitchill's
"Picture of New York." Mitchill began with the aborigines: the Irvings
began with the creation of the world. Fortunately Peter was soon
called away to Europe, and Irving was left to his own devices, which
presently took a different and more original turn. He threw out most
of the pompous erudition which belonged to the work as a burlesque,
and condensed what remained. Everything after the five introductory
chapters is his own.

At this time he had begun to do commission business for certain New
York houses, with a genuine impulse toward steadiness and industry
which it is easy to account for. He was deep in love with the second
daughter of Mr. Hoffman, in whose office he had originally idled. He
had been for years very intimate with the family, and had ended by
making a remarkable discovery about one of them. As he was evidently
not in a position to marry, he was now setting to work with real
energy to improve his means.

Matilda Hoffman was a girl of seventeen, pretty, amiable, and clever.
She died of quick consumption in April, 1809. It is certain that they
loved each other very much, and that Irving never forgot her. The
claim put forth by his nephew and biographer that he gave up marriage
for her sake, and was romantically scrupulous in his faithfulness to
her memory, seems hardly borne out by the facts. He was crushed for
the moment, but not heartbroken. The truth is Irving's nature was
sentimental rather than passionate. His love for Miss Hoffman appears
to have been the deepest feeling of his life, but it did not absorb
his whole nature. The first effect of her loss was to fill him with a
sort of horror--the rebellion of a young and sensitive health against
the tyranny of death. It was enough to show that the mourner was by no
means in desperate case, for extreme grief is not afraid. In after
life he never mentioned her name, and wrote of her only once. At the
same time pretty faces and the charm of womanly companionship
continued to attract him; indeed, a few years later