I imagine that
many of my former colleagues will soon be doing the same!
II. Father Knickerbocker: A Fantasy
It happened quite recently--I think it must have been on
April the second of 1917--that I was making the long
pilgrimage on a day-train from the remote place where I
dwell to the city of New York. And as we drew near the
city, and day darkened into night, I had fallen to reading
from a quaint old copy of Washington Irving's immortal
sketches of Father Knickerbocker and of the little town
where once he dwelt.
I had picked up the book I know not where. Very old it
apparently was and made in England. For there was pasted
across the fly-leaf of it an extract from some ancient
magazine or journal of a century ago, giving what was
evidently a description of the New York of that day.
From reading the book I turned--my head still filled with
the vision of Father Knickerbocker and Sleepy Hollow and
Tarrytown--to examine the extract. I read it in a sort
of half-doze, for the dark had fallen outside, and the
drowsy throbbing of the running train attuned one's mind
to dreaming of the past.
"The town of New York"--so ran the extract pasted in the
little book--"is pleasantly situated at the lower extremity
of the Island of Manhattan.
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