Chapter 1 - Page 2

garden sloped down to the river-side. It had paths
bordered by clipped box, and shaded by holly and yew trees cut in
fantastic shapes.

In the spring this garden was a wonder of tulips and hyacinths and
lilacs, of sweet daffodils and white lilies. In the summer it was ruddy
with roses, and blazing with verbenas, and gay with the laburnum's gold
cascade. Then the musk carnations and the pale slashed pinks exhaled a
fragrance that made the heart dream idyls. In the autumn there was the
warm, sweet smell of peaches and pears and apples. There were
morning-glories in riotous profusion, tall hollyhocks, and wonderful
dahlias. In winter it still had charms,--the white snow, and the green
box and cedar and holly, and the sharp descent of its frozen paths to
the frozen river. Councillor Van Heemskirk's father had built the house
and planted the garden, and he had the Dutch reverence for a good
ancestry. Often he sent his thoughts backward to remember how he walked
by his father's side, or leaned against his mother's chair, as they told
him the tragic tales of the old Barneveldt and the hapless De Witts; or
how his young heart glowed to their memories of the dear fatherland,
and the proud march of the Batavian republic.

But this night the mournful glamour of the past caught a fresh glory
from the dawn of a grander day forespoken. "More than three hundred
vessels may leave the port of New York this same year," he thought. "It
is the truth; every man of standing says so. Good-evening, Mr. Justice.
Good-evening, neighbours;" and he stood a minute, with his hands on his
garden-gate, to bow to Justice Van Gaasbeeck and to Peter Sluyter, who,
with their wives, were going to spend an hour or two at Christopher
Laer's garden. There the women would have chocolate and hot waffles, and
discuss the new camblets and shoes just arrived from England, and to be
bought at Jacob Kip's store; and the men would have a pipe of Virginia
and a glass of hot Hollands, and fight over again the quarrel pending
between the governor and the Assembly.

"Men can bear all things but good days," said Peter Sluyter, when they
had gone a dozen yards in silence; "since Van Heemskirk has a seat in
the council-room, it is a long way to his hat."

"Come, now, he was very civil, Sluyter. He bows like a man not used to
make a low bow, that is all."

"Well, well! with time, every one gets into his right place. In the City
Hall, I may yet put my chair beside his, Van Gaasbeeck."

"So say I, Sluyter; and, for the present, it is all well as it is."

This little envious fret of his neighbour lost itself outside Joris Van
Heemskirk's home. Within it, all was love and