THE TOWN OF kOUNT PLEASANT. 535 



and pleasant days passed together in times long since at Judge Van Ness's, at 

 Kinderhook. Your mention of the death of good old Dominie Van Nest recalls 

 the apostolic zeal with which he took our little sinful community in hand, when 

 he put up for a day or two at the Judge's ; and the wholesome castigation he gave 

 us all one Sunday, beginning with the two country belles who came fluttering 

 into the school-house during the sermon, decked out in their city finery, and 

 ending with the Judge himself on the stronghold of his own mansion. How 

 soundly he gave it to us ! How he peeled off every rag of self-righteousness 

 with which we tried to cover ourselves, and laid the rod on the bare backs of 

 our consciences ! The good, plain-spoken, honest, old man ! How I honored 

 him for his simple, straightforward earnestness, his homely sincerity. He 

 certainly handled us without mittens, but I trust we were all the better for it. 

 How different he was from the brisk, dapper, self-sufficient little apostle who 

 cantered up to the Judge's door a day or two after ; who was so full of himself 

 that he had no thought to bestow on our religious delinquencies : who did noth- 

 ing but boast of his public trials of skill in argument with rival preachers of other 

 denominations, and how he had driven them off the field and crowed over them. 

 You must remember the bustling, self-confident little man with a tin trumpet in 

 the handle of his riding-whip, with which I presume he blew the trumpet in Zion # 



Do you remember our fishing expedition in company with Congressman Van 

 Allen to the little lake a few miles from Kinderhook, and John Moore, the vaga- 

 bond admiral of the lake, who sat couched in a heap in the middle of his canoe 

 in the centre of the water, with fishing-rods stretched out in every direction, 

 like the long legs of a spider ; and do you remember our piratical prank, when 

 we made up for our bad luck in fishing by plundering his canoe of its fish when 

 we found it adrif t ? And do you remember how John Moore came splashing 

 along the marsh, on the opposite border of the lake, roaring at us ; and how we 

 finished our frolic by driving off and leaving the Congressman to John Moore's 

 mercy, tickling ourselves with the idea of his being scalped, at least ? Oh, well- 

 a-day, friend Merwin ; these were the days of our youth and folly ; I trust we 

 have grown„wiser and better since then ; we certainly have grown older. I don't 

 think we could rob John Moore's fishing canoe now. By the way, that same 

 John Moore, and the anecdote you told of him, gave me the idea of a vagabond 

 character — Dirk Schuyler, in my Knickerbocker history of New York, which I 

 was then writing. 



You tell me the old school building is torn down, and a nice one built in its 

 place. I am sorry for it. I should have liked to see the old school-house once 

 more, where, after my morning's literary task was over, I used to come and wait 

 for you, occasionally, until school was dismissed ; and you would promise to 

 keep back the punishment of some little tough, broad-bottomed Dutch boy, 

 until I should come, for my amusement — but never kept your promise. I don't 

 think I should look with a friendly eye at the new school-house, however nice it 

 may be. 



Since I saw you in New York I have had severe attacks of billious intermit- 

 tent fever, which shook me terribly ; but they cleared out my system, and I have 

 ever since been in my usual excellent health — able to mount my horse and gallop 

 about the country almost as briskly as when I was -a youngster. Wishing you 

 the enjoyment of the same inestimable blessing, and begging you to remember 



