CHAPTER XVII.

LETTER TO MRS.

STORROW.-LOUIS NAPOLEON AND EUGENIE MONTIJO.— SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.-LETTER TO HON, ROBERT C. WINTHROP.-WILKIE'S SKETCH.-LETTER TO MR. GRAY.-TO MRS. KENNEDY.-SECOND LETTER TO MR. WINTHROP.-LETTER TO MISS MARY E. KENNEDY.-LEAVES SUNNYSIDE ON AN EXCURSION.-LETTERS DURING HIS ABSENCE.-LETTER ON HIS RETURN.

HE following letter is addressed to Mrs. Storrow, at Paris:

MY DEAR SARAH :

SUNNYSIDE, March 28, 1853.

A letter received from you while I was at Washington, gave an account of the marriage procession of Louis Napoleon and his bride to the Church of Notre Dame, which you saw from a window near the Hôtel de Ville. One of your recent letters, I am told, speaks of your having been presented to the Empress. I shall see it when I go to town. Louis Napoleon and Eugenie Montijo, Emperor and Empress of France !-one of whom I have had a guest at my cottage on the Hudson; the other, whom, when a child, I have had on my knee at Granada! It seems to cap the climax of the strange dramas of which Paris has been the theatre during my life-time.

I have repeatedly thought that each grand coup de theatre would be the last that would occur in my time; but each has been succeeded by another equally striking, and what will be the next, who can conjecture?

The last I saw of Eugenie Montijo, she was one of the reigning belles of Madrid; and she and her giddy circle had swept away my charm

ing young friend, the beautiful and accomplished

and

into their

career of fashionable dissipation. Now Eugenie is upon a throne, a voluntary recluse in a convent of one of the most rigorPerhaps, however, her fate may ultimately

ous orders! Poor -!

be the happiest of the two. at rest;" but the other is launched upon a returnless shore on a dangerous sea, infamous for its tremendous shipwrecks.

"The storm," with her, "is o'er, and she's

Am I to live to see the catastrophe of her career, and the end of this suddenly conjured-up empire, which seems to be of "such stuff as dreams are made of ?"

I confess my personal acquaintance with the individuals who figure in this historical romance gives me uncommon interest in it; but I consider it stamped with danger and instability, and as liable to extravagant vicissitudes as one of Dumas's novels. You do right to witness the grand features of this passing pageant. You are probably reading one of the most peculiar and eventful pages of history, and may live to look back upon it as a romantic tale.

I have passed part of the winter at Washington, delightfully situated in the house of my friend Kennedy, who was Secretary of the Navy.

I was present at the going out of one Administration and the coming in of another; was acquainted with both Presidents and most of the members of both Cabinets, and witnessed the inauguration of General Pierce. It was admirable to see the quiet and courtesy with which this great transition of power and rule from one party to another took place. I was at festive meetings where the members of the opposite parties mingled socially together, and have seen the two Presidents arm in arm, as if the sway of an immense empire was not passing from one to the other.

At the last of this week I expect some of the family up here to my birthday, the 3d of April, when I come of age-of full age-seventy years! I never could have hoped, at such an advanced period of life, to be in such full health, such activity of mind and body, and such capacity for enjoyment as I find myself at present. But I have reached the allotted limit of existence; all beyond is especial indulgence. So long as I

can retain my present health and spirits, I am happy to live, for I think my life is important to the happiness of others; but as soon as my life becomes useless to others, and joyless to myself, I hope I may be relieved from the burden; and I shall lay it down with heartfelt thanks to that Almighty Power which has guided my incautious steps through so many uncertain and dangerous ways, and enabled me to close my career in serenity and peace, surrounded by my family and friends, in the little home I have formed for myself, among the scenes of my boyhood.

With affectionate remembrances to Mr. Storrow, and love to the dear little folks,

Your affectionate uncle,

WASHINGTON IRVING.

The following letter also touches upon his threescore and ten. It is addressed to the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, of Boston, who had just sent him a volume of his writings, and with whom he had recently become acquainted under Mr. Kennedy's roof, at Washington, where they sojourned together for a week. It has allusion also to a sketch of him by Wilkie. Of this last Mr. Winthrop writes: "Do you remember my telling you that I had a sketch of you, by Wilkie, in one of his published volumes? I have found it, since my return, in a volume which I purchased in London, and which was just out when I was there, in 1847. The sketch is entitled, "Washington Irving consulting the Archives of Cordova," and is dated 25th April, 1828. It forms the frontispiece of a large volume dedicated to Lord Lansdowne. The original of the sketch of you is said to be in the possession of Sir William Knighton, Bart."

MY DEAR MR. WINTHROP :

SUNNYSIDE, April 4, 1853.

I have deferred replying to your very kind and acceptable letter until I could acknowledge the receipt of the volume it announced. It has now come to hand, and I shall prize it, not only for its own merit, but as a memorial of the very pleasant time we passed together under the hospitable roof of Kennedy, at Washington; and I assure you I esteem it one of the most gratifying circumstances attending my delightful sojourn there, that it brought me into domestic companionship with you.

I regret to learn that you, like Kennedy, have been a sufferer in health since we parted, though I trust you are both fully recovered. You have no doubt been shocked, like myself, at the sad bereavement which has afflicted the worthy Fillmore family. I almost think poor Mrs. Fillmore must have received her death-warrant while standing by my side on the marble terrace of the Capitol, exposed to chilly wind and snow, listening to the inaugural speech of her husband's successor. This sad event, as you perceive, has put an end to the Southern tour, which did not seem to meet your approbation, and has left Kennedy to the quiet of his home and his library, which I should think he would relish after the turmoil of Washington.

As to myself, to echo your own words, I am "safely at Sunnyside, and in the best of health." The shadows of departed years, however, are gathering over me, for yesterday I celebrated my seventieth birthday. Seventy years of age! I can scarcely realize that I have indeed arrived at the allotted verge of existence, beyond which all is special grace and indulgence. I used to think that a man, at seventy, must have survived everything worth living for; that with him the silver cord must be loosed, the wheel broken at the cistern; that all desire must fail, and the grasshopper become a burden. Yet here I find myself, unconscious of the withering influences of age, still strong and active, my sensibilities alive, and my social affections in full vigor.

"Strange that a harp of thousand strings

Should keep in tune so long!"

While it does keep in tune while I have still a little music in my soul to be called out by any touch of sympathy; while I can enjoy the society of those dear to me, and contribute, as they tell me, to their enjoyment, I am content and happy to live on. But I have it ever present to my mind that the measure of my days is full and running over; and I feel ready at any moment to lay down this remnant of existence, with a thankful heart that my erratic and precarious career has been brought to so serene a close, among the scenes of my youth, and surrounded by those I love.

The sketch of me by Wilkie, which you tell me you have in one of his published volumes, cannot be an attempt at a likeness. I recollect the composition; the scene, I think, was at Seville. I was seated in a dusky chamber at a table, looking over a folio volume which a monk who was standing by my side had just handed down to me. Wilkie thought the whole had a Rembrandt effect, which he aimed at producing; but, if I recollect right, my face could not be seen distinctly.

Farewell, my dear Mr. Winthrop, and believe me, with no common regard, Your friend,

MY DEAR MR. GRAY:

WASHINGTON IRVING.

[To Mr. Edward Gray.]

SUNNYSIDE, April 24, 1853.

The hams which you have had the kindness to send me, came safe to hand. One of them was served up to-day, at dinner. All my family partook of it with uncommon relish. Never did a ham achieve such sudden popularity. In a word, it covered itself with glory! I must get your receipt for curing hams; but there must be much in the breed of the animal, as well as in the treatment and feeding. I never attempt anything but a few green hams, in which I succeed very well; but hams so rich, high-flavored, and thoroughly cured as those you have sent me, are quite beyond my art. I thank you most heartily for this specimen of what Maryland can furnish in this line.. If I had the ordering of