Salmagundi; or, The whim-whams and opinions of Launcelot Langstaff, esq. [pseud.] and others. By William Irving, James Kirke Paulding and Washington Irving. Printed from the original ed., with a preface and notes by Evert A. Duyckinck.

220 SALMAGUNDI.
FROM MY ELBOW-CIIAIR.
MINE UNCLE JOHN.
T O those whose habits of abstraction may have lt them
into some of the secrets of their own minds, and whose
freedom from daily toil has left them at leisure to analyze their
feelings, it will be nothing new to say tnat the present is peculiarly the season of remembrance. The flowers, the zephyrs, and
the warblers of spring, returning after their tedious absence,
bring naturally to our recollection past times and buried feelings;
and the whispers of the full-foliaged grove, fall on the ear of
contemplation, like the sweet tones of far distant friends whom
the rude jostlers of the world have severed from us and cast far
beyond our reach. It is at such times, that, casting backward
many a lingering look, we recall, with a kind of sweet-souled
melancholy, the days of our youth, and the jocund companions
who started with us the race of life, but parted midway in the
journey to pursue some winding path that allured them with a
prospect more seducing, and never returned to us again. It is
then, too, if we have been afflicted with any heavy sorrow, if
we have even lost-and who has not!-an old friend or chosen
companion, that his shade will hover around us; the memory
of his virtues press on the heart; and a thousand endearing
recollections, forgotten amidst the cold pleasures and midnight
dissipations of winter, arise to our remembrance.
These speculations bring to my mind, MY UNCLE JOHN, the
history of whose loves, and disappointments, I have promised to
the world. Though I must own myself much addicted to forgetting my promises, yet, as I have been so happily reminded of this
I believe I must pay it at once, " and there is an end." Lest