James Kirke Paulding, his senior by several years, was his guide and friend, if not philosopher; and it is not improbable that the people of the neighbourhood, who have conjured for half a century by Geoffrey Crayon's name, must thank that engaging youngster for their titular saint. It is hard for us to realise, looking at the cultivated "grounds," the "improved" residences, and innumerable smooth lawns, what those two boys found as they rambled with guns or rods over the hills, or pushed their boat into the bays along the river shore. The Pocantico and its tributary streams then teemed with trout. The quail piped in every cornfield, and the grouse whirred from every invaded thicket. One little distant church folded the entire rural flock on Sabbath days. Revolutionary veterans, in the prime of life, fought their battles o\'er at the tavern or the store. The market boat that sailed at stated intervals for New York, wind and weather permitting, tied up near the Paulding house, and the farm waggons lumbered down with their produce to the landing. A century has made mighty changes. Years afterward, Washington Irving wrote: To me the Hudson is full of storied associations, connected as it is with some of the happiest portions of my Hfe. Each striking feature brings to mind some early adventure or enjoy-

In the Land of Irving- 241 ment, some favourite companion who shared it with me, some fair object, perchance, of youthful admiration, who, hkc a star, may have beamed her allotted time and passed away.