figure and a most amiable disposition. Before his accession he had been smitten with the charms of Elgiva, a noble lady, his kinswoman, whom he married secretly, in spite of the fulminations of Saint Dunstan, and Odo, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who had represented to him that their relationship was too near to allow of their union. Upon the day of his coronation a grand feast was prepared for all the nobles; but the king, disliking their rude merriment and drunkenness, took an early opportunity to withdraw, and spend the remainder of the day in the more congenial society of his best-beloved Elgiva. The nobles, after he was gone, expressed great dissatisfaction at the indignity with which they were treated in being abandoned by their entertainer; and Saint Dunstan, best known to posterity as the devil's nose pincher, was deputed by the rest to bring back the monarch to the table. Saint Dunstan, who was in all probability drunk at the time, readily undertook the mission, and accompanied by Odo, the archbishop of Canterbury, who was also highly indignant at the disrespect Edwy had shown to the church, rushed into the royal apartment, and found the king dallying with his bride. The brutal Dunstan immediately tore him from her arms, and, applying an opprobrious epithet to the queen, dragged the young monarch by force into the banquetting-hall of the nobles. It was not to be expected that any woman, however mild her temper, could forgive so deep an insult as this, and Elgiva exercised all the influence she possessed over her husband's mind to bring about the ruin of the presuming and unmannerly priest. An opportunity was soon found; charges were brought against him, from which he could not clear himself, and he was finally banished from the kingdom, and forced to take refuge in Flanders. But the Archbishop of Canterbury still remained behind. The unhappy Elgiva, in espousing the king, had gained to herself a host of troubles and of enemies; and, instead of intimidating, had only embittered the latter by the means she had adopted. Intrigues were fomented against the young couple, who had loved so well, but so unwisely. The queen, all fresh in youth, and all radiant in her beauty, was seized by the archbishop, at the head of a party of ruffians, and held forcibly upon the ground, while a wretch with a hot iron burnt her "damask cheeks" to obliterate the traces of that transcendent loveliness which had set enmity between the civil and ecclesiastical power. She was then carried away to the sea-coast, and hidden for some days, till an opportunity was found to convey her to Ireland. She remained in that country for some months, when she effected her escape. The scars on her face had healed; the brutal work had not been effectually done, and she shone in as great beauty as ever, and was hastening to Kingston, to the embraces of her royal spouse, when she was intercepted at Gloucester by the spies of the relentless archbishop. At this time revolt was openly declared against the authority of Edwy, and, to show him how strong and how reckless the conspirators were, the archbishop gave orders that the unhappy princess should be put to death by the most horrible tortures which could be devised. It was finally resolved that she should be hamstrung. The cruel sentence was carried into execution, and the poor queen was left to linger on a couch of straw, without nourishment or attendance of any sort, until death put a period to her sufferings a few days afterwards. Edwy was

soon afterwards deposed. He did not long survive his Elgiva: crownless, and what to him was worse-wifeless, he died of a broken heart before he attained his twentieth year.

Portraits of all these old Saxon kings, and of Edwy among the rest, used formerly to adorn the walls of Kingston Church, and we procured admission into the sacred edifice with the full expectation of seeing them, upon the faith of two or three guide-books which we had consulted. We ascertained, however, that our guides were not to be trusted, the portraits having been removed to Windsor Castle more than a century ago.

We also made inquiry after another relic-the stone upon which these old monarchs were crowned, and which formerly stood in the market-place. We were informed that it was at present in the safe custody of the mayor, where it will remain until the new town-hall is built; in which it is proposed to set apart an honourable place for it. This may be now considered the only relic-and that but a poor one, which Kingston possesses of all its former grandeur. Part of the chapel in which the coronation ceremony was sometimes performed, fell down in the year 1730, and has not been rebuilt in its former style, but merely patched up to keep the wind and the rain out. The site of the chapel is the same; but the original edifice, which saw the inauguration of Athelstan and Edwy must have long since disappeared.

Kingston at one time sent members to parliament; but the practice of election, very different to what it is now, imposing upon the constituent body, and not upon the candidates, the necessity of spending money, the good people grumbled at the expense, and finally prayed to be relieved from it for evermore by a formal petition to King Edward III. Their prayer was granted; and Kingston, penny-wise and pound-foolish, has dwindled away into a very inconsiderable place.

A small, but very clear stream, called the Hog's Mill river, runs into the Thames at Kingston. It takes its rise near Ewell, and is much frequented by anglers.

THE situation of the Roost is in the very heart of what was the debatable ground between the American and British lines during the war. The British held possession of the city of New-York, and the island of Manhattan, on which it stands. The Americans drew up toward the Highlands, holding their head-quarters at Peekskill. The intervening country, from Croton River to Spiting Devil Creek, was the debatable land, subject to be harried by friend and foe, like the Scottish borders of yore. It is a rugged country, with a line of rocky hills extending through it, like a back bone, sending ribs on either side; but, among these rude hills are beautiful winding valleys, like those watered by the Pocantico and the Neperan. In the fastnesses of these hills, and along these valleys, exist a race of hardheaded, hard-handed, stout-hearted Dutchmen, descendants of the

primitive Nederlanders. Most of these were strong Whigs throughout the war, and have ever remained obstinately attached to the soil, and neither to be fought nor bought out of their paternal acres. Others were Tories, and adherents to the old kingly rule; some of whom took refuge within the British lines, joined the royal bands of refugees,—a name odious to the American ear,—and occasionally returned to harass their ancient neighbours.

In a little while this debatable land was overrun by predatory bands from either side; sacking hen-roosts, plundering farm-houses, and driving off cattle. Hence arose those two great orders of border chivalry, the Skinners and the Cow-boys, famous in the heroic annals of Westchester county. The former fought, or rather marauded, under the American, the latter under the British banner; but both, in the hurry of their military ardour, were apt to err on the safe side, and rob friend as well as foe. Neither of them stopped to ask the politics of horse or cow which they drove into captivity; nor, when they wrung the neck of a rooster, did they trouble their heads to ascertain whether he were crowing for Congress or King George.

While this marauding system prevailed on shore, the Great Tappan Sea, which washes this belligerent region, was domineered over by British frigates, and other vessels of war, anchored here and there, to keep an eye upon the river, and maintain a communication between the various military posts. Stout galleys also, armed with eighteen-pounders, and navigated with sails and oars, cruised about like hawks, ready to pounce upon their prey.

All these were eyed with bitter hostility by the Dutch yeomanry along shore, who were indignant at seeing their great Mediterranean ploughed by hostile prows; and would occasionally throw up a mud breast-work on a point or promontory, mount an old iron field-piece, and fire away at the enemy, though the greatest harm was apt to happen to themselves, from the bursting of their ordnance; nay there was scarcely a Dutchman along the river that would hesitate to fire with his long duck gun at any British cruiser that came within reach, as he had been accustomed to fire at water-fowl.

I have been thus particular in my account of the times and neighbourhood, that the reader might the more readily comprehend the surrounding dangers, in this the Heroic Age of the Roost.

It was commanded at the time, as I have already observed, by the stout Jacob Van Tassel. As I wish to be extremely accurate in this part of my chronicle, I beg that this Jacob Van Tassel of the Roost may not be confounded with another Jacob Van Tassel, commonly known in border story by the name of "Clump-footed Jake," a noted Tory, and one of the refugee band of Spiting Devil. On the contrary, he of the Roost was a patriot of the first water, and, if we may take his own word for granted, a thorn in the side of the enemy. As the Roost, from its lonely situation on the water's edge, might be liable to attack, he took measures for defence. On a row of hooks above his fire-place, reposed his great piece of ordnance, ready charged and primed for action. This was a duck, or rather goosegun, of unparalleled longitude, with which it was said he could kill a wild goose, though half-way across the Tappan Sea. Indeed, there are as many wonders told of this renowned gun, as of the enchanted weapons of the heroes of classic story.

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In different parts of the stone walls of this mansion he had made loop-holes, through which he might fire upon an assailant. His wife was stout-hearted as himself, and could load as fast as he could fire; and then, he had an ancient and redoubtable sister, Nochie Van Wurmer, a match, as he said, for the stoutest man in the country. Thus garrisoned, the little Roost was fit to stand a siege, and Jacob Van Tassel was the man to defend it to the last charge of powder.

He was, as I have already hinted, of pugnacious propensities; and, not content with being a patriot at home, and fighting for the security of his own fire-side, he extended his thoughts abroad, and entered into a confederacy with certain of the bold, hard-riding lads of Tarrytown, Petticoat-Lane, and Sleepy Hollow, who formed a kind of Holy Brotherhood, scouring the country to clear it of Skinner and Cow-boy, and all other border vermin. The Roost was one of their rallying points. Did a band of marauders from Manhattan island come sweeping through the neighbourhood, and driving off cattle, the stout Jacob and his compeers were soon clattering at their heels, and fortunate did the rogues esteem themselves if they could but get a part of their booty across the lines, or escape themselves without a rough handling. Should the moss-troopers succeed in passing with their cavalgada, with thundering tramp and dusty whirlwind, across Kingsbridge, the Holy Brotherhood of the Roost would rein up at that perilous pass, and, wheeling about, would indemnify themselves by foraging the refugee region of Morrissania. When at home at the Roost, the stout Jacob was not idle; but was prone to carry on a petty warfare of his own, for his private recreation and refreshment. Did he ever chance to espy, from his look-out place, a hostile ship or galley anchored or becalmed near shore, he would take down his long goose-gun from the hooks over the fire-place, sally out alone, and lurk along shore, dodging behind rocks and trees, and watching for hours together, like a veteran mouser intent on a rat-hole. So sure as a boat put off for shore, and came within shot, bang! went the great goose-gun; a shower of slugs and buck-shot whistled about the ears of the enemy, and before the boat could reach the shore, Jacob had scuttled up some woody ravine, and left no trace behind.

About this time the Roost experienced a vast succession of warlike importance, in being made one of the stations of the water-guard. This was a kind of aquatic corps of observation, composed of long, sharp, canoe-shaped boats, technically called whale-boats, that lay lightly on the water, and could be rowed with great rapidity. They were manned by resolute fellows, skilled at pulling an oar, or handling a musket. These lurked about in nooks and bays, and behind those long promontories which run out into the Tappan Sea, keeping a look-out to give notice of the approach or movements of hostile ships. They roved about in pairs; sometimes at night, with muffled oars, gliding like spectres about frigates and guard-ships riding at anchor, cutting off any boats that made for shore, and keeping the enemy in constant uneasiness. These musquito-cruisers generally kept aloof by day, so that their harbouring places might not be discovered, but would pull quietly along, under shadow of the shore at night, to take up their quarters at the Roost. Hither, at such time, would also repair the hard-riding lads of the hills, to hold secret councils of war with the "ocean chivalry;" and in these nocturnal

meetings were concerted many of those daring forays, by land and water, that resounded throughout the border.

The chronicle here goes on to recount divers wonderful stories of the wars of the Roost, from which it would seem that this little warrior nest carried the terror of its arms into every sea, from Spiting Devil Creek to Antony's Nose; that it even bearded the stout island of Manhattan, invading it at night, penetrating to its centre, and burning down the famous Delancy house, the conflagration of which makes such a blaze in revolutionary history. Nay more, in their extravagant daring, these cocks of the Roost meditated a nocturnal descent upon New York itself, to swoop upon the British commanders, Howe and Clinton, by surprise, bear them off captive, and perhaps put a triumphant close to the war!

All these and many similar exploits are recorded by the worthy Diedrich with his usual minuteness and enthusiasm, whenever the deeds in arms of his kindred Dutchmen are in question; but though most of these warlike stories rest upon the best of all authority, that of the warriors themselves, and though many of them are still current among the revolutionary patriarchs of this heroic neighbourhood, yet I dare not expose them to the incredulity of a tamer and less chivalric age. Suffice it to say, the frequent gatherings at the Roost, and the hardy projects set on foot there, at length drew on it the fiery indignation of the enemy; and this was quickened by the conduct of the stout Jacob Van Tassel, with whose valorous achievements we resume the course of the chronicle.

This doughty Dutchman, continues the sage Diedrich Knickerbocker, was not content with taking a share in all the magnanimous enterprises concocted at the Roost, but still continued his petty warfare along shore. A series of exploits at length raised his confidence in his prowess to such a height, that he began to think himself and his goose-gun a match for anything. Unluckily, in the course of one of his prowlings, he descried a British transport aground, not far from shore, with her stern swung toward the land, within pointblank shot. The temptation was too great to be resisted; bang! as usual, went the great goose-gun, shivering the cabin windows, and driving all hands forward. Bang! bang! the shots were repeated. The reports brought several sharpshooters of the neighbourhood to the spot; before the transport could bring a gun to bear, or land a boat, to take revenge, she was soundly peppered, and the coast evacuated. This was the last of Jacob's triumphs. He fared like some heroic spider that has unwittingly ensnared a hornet, to his immortal glory, perhaps, but to the utter ruin of his web.

It was not long after this, during the absence of Jacob Van Tassel on one of his forays, and when no one was in garrison but his stouthearted spouse, his redoubtable sister, Nochie Van Wurmer, and a strapping negro wench, called Dinah, that an armed vessel came to anchor off the Roost, and a boat full of men pulled to shore. The garrison flew to arms, that is to say, to mops, broomsticks, shovels, tongs, and all kinds of domestic weapons; for unluckily the great piece of ordnance, the goose-gun, was absent with its owner. Above all, a vigorous defence was made with that most potent of female weapons, the tongue. Never did invaded hen-roost make a more