been flogged about an unintelligible book when he was a boy.  But to think that a young fellow like Dolph, of such wonderful abilities, who could shoot, fish, run, jump, ride, and wrestle, should be obliged, to roll pills and administer juleps for a living—­’twas monstrous!  He told Dolph never to despair, but to “throw physic to the dogs;” for a young fellow of his prodigious talents could never fail to make his way.  “As you seem to have no acquaintance in Albany,” said Heer Antony, “you shall go home with me, and remain under my roof until you can look about you; and in the meantime we can take an occasional bout at shooting and fishing, for it is a pity such talents should lie idle.”

Dolph, who was at the mercy of chance, was not hard to be persuaded.  Indeed, on turning over matters in his mind, which he did very sagely and deliberately, he could not but think that Antony Vander Heyden was, “some how or other,” connected with the story of the Haunted House; that the misadventure in the highlands, which had thrown them so strangely together, was, “some how or other,” to work out something good:  in short, there is nothing so convenient as this “some how or other” way of accommodating one’s self to circumstances; it is the main-stay of a heedless actor, and tardy reasoner, like Dolph Heyliger; and he who can, in this loose, easy way, link foregone evil to anticipated good, possesses a secret of happiness almost equal to the philosopher’s stone.

On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph’s companion seemed to cause universal satisfaction.  Many were the greetings at the river side, and the salutations in the streets:  the dogs bounded before him; the boys whooped as he passed; every body seemed to know Antony Vander Heyden.  Dolph followed on in silence, admiring the neatness of this worthy burgh; for in those days Albany was in all its glory, and inhabited almost exclusively by the descendants of the original Dutch settlers, for it had not as yet been discovered and colonized by the restless people of New-England.  Every thing was quiet and orderly; every thing was conducted calmly and leisurely; no hurry, no bustle, no struggling and scrambling for existence.  The grass grew about the unpaved streets, and relieved the eye by its refreshing verdure.  The tall sycamores or pendent willows shaded the houses, with caterpillars swinging, in long silken strings, from their branches, or moths, fluttering about like coxcombs, in joy at their gay transformation.  The houses were built in the old Dutch style, with the gable-ends towards the street.  The thrifty housewife was seated on a bench before her door, in close crimped cap, bright flowered gown, and white apron, busily employed in knitting.  The husband smoked his pipe on the opposite bench, and the little pet negro girl, seated on the step at her mistress’ feet, was industriously plying her needle.  The swallows sported about the eaves, or skimmed along the streets, and brought back some rich booty for their clamorous young; and the little housekeeping wren flew in and out of a Lilliputian house, or an old hat nailed against the wall.  The cows were coming home, lowing through the streets, to be milked at their owner’s door; and if, perchance, there were any loiterers, some negro urchin, with a long goad, was gently urging them homewards.