110 lines
6.0 KiB
Plaintext
110 lines
6.0 KiB
Plaintext
1819-20
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THE SKETCH BOOK
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THE AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF
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by Washington Irving
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"I am of this mind with Homer, that as the snaile that crept out
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of her shel was turned eftsoons into a toad, and thereby was forced to
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make a stoole to sit on; so the traveller that stragleth from his owne
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country is in a short time transformed into so monstrous a shape, that
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he is faine to alter his mansion with his manners, and to live where
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he can, not where he would."
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LYLY'S EUPHUES.
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I WAS always fond of visiting new scenes, and observing strange
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characters and manners. Even when a mere child I began my travels, and
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made many tours of discovery into foreign parts and unknown regions of
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my native city, to the frequent alarm of my parents, and the emolument
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of the town-crier. As I grew into boyhood, I extended the range of
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my observations. My holiday afternoons were spent in rambles about the
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surrounding country. I made myself familiar with all its places famous
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in history or fable. I knew every spot where a murder or robbery had
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been committed, or a ghost seen. I visited the neighboring villages,
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and added greatly to my stock of knowledge, by noting their habits and
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customs, and conversing with their sages and great men. I even
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journeyed one long summer's day to the summit of the most distant
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hill, whence I stretched my eye over many a mile of terra incognita,
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and was astonished to find how vast a globe I inhabited.
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This rambling propensity strengthened with my years. Books of
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voyages and travels became my passion, and in devouring their
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contents, I neglected the regular exercises of the school. How
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wistfully would I wander about the pier-heads in fine weather, and
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watch the parting ships, bound to distant climes- with what longing
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eyes would I gaze after their lessening sails, and waft myself in
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imagination to the ends of the earth!
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Further reading and thinking, though they brought this vague
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inclination into more reasonable bounds, only served to make it more
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decided. I visited various parts of my own country; and had I been
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merely a lover of fine scenery, I should have felt little desire to
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seek elsewhere its gratification, for on no country have the charms of
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nature been more prodigally lavished. Her mighty lakes, like oceans of
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liquid silver; her mountains, with their bright aerial tints; her
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valleys, teeming with wild fertility; her tremendous cataracts,
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thundering in their solitudes; her boundless plains, waving with
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spontaneous verdure; her broad deep rivers, rolling in solemn
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silence to the ocean; her trackless forests, where vegetation puts
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forth all its magnificence; her skies, kindling with the magic of
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summer clouds and glorious sunshine;- no, never need an American
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look beyond his own country for the sublime and beautiful of natural
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scenery.
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But Europe held forth the charms of storied and poetical
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association. There were to be seen the masterpieces of art, the
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refinements of highly-cultivated society, the quaint peculiarities
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of ancient and local custom. My native country was full of youthful
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promise: Europe was rich in the accumulated treasures of age. Her very
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ruins told the history of times gone by, and every mouldering stone
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was a chronicle. I longed to wander over the scenes of renowned
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achievement- to tread, as it were, in the footsteps of antiquity- to
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loiter about the ruined castle- to meditate on the falling tower- to
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escape, in short, from the commonplace realities of the present, and
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lose myself among the shadowy grandeurs of the past.
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I had, beside all this, an earnest desire to see the great men of
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the earth. We have, it is true, our great men in America: not a city
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but has an ample share of them. I have mingled among them in my
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time, and been almost withered by the shade into which they cast me;
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for there is nothing so baleful to a small man as the shade of a great
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one, particularly the great man of a city. But I was anxious to see
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the great men of Europe; for I had read in the works of various
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philosophers, that all animals degenerated in America, and man among
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the number. A great man of Europe, thought I, must therefore be as
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superior to a great man of America, as a peak of the Alps to a
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highland of the Hudson; and in this idea I was confirmed, by observing
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the comparative importance and swelling magnitude of many English
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travellers among us, who, I was assured, were very little people in
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their own country. I will visit this land of wonders, thought I, and
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see the gigantic race from which I am degenerated.
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It has been either my good or evil lot to have my roving passion
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gratified. I have wandered through different countries, and
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witnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. I cannot say that I
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have studied them with the eye of a philosopher; but rather with the
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sauntering gaze with which humble lovers of the picturesque stroll
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from the window of one print-shop to another; caught sometimes by
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the delineations of beauty, sometimes by the distortions of
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caricature, and sometimes by the loveliness of landscape. As it is the
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fashion for modern tourists to travel pencil in hand, and bring home
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their portfolios filled with sketches, I am disposed to get up a few
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for the entertainment of my friends. When, however, I look over the
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hints and memorandums I have taken down for the purpose, my heart
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almost fails me at finding how my idle humor has led me aside from the
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great objects studied by every regular traveller who would make a
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book. I fear I shall give equal disappointment with an unlucky
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landscape painter, who had travelled on the continent, but,
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following the bent of his vagrant inclination, had sketched in
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nooks, and corners, and by-places. His sketchbook was accordingly
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crowded with cottages, and landscapes, and obscure ruins; but he had
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neglected to paint St. Peter's, or the Coliseum; the cascade of Terni,
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or the bay of Naples; and had not a single glacier or volcano in his
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whole collection.
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THE END
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