The great novelist, in
the sad eclipse of his powers, was staying in the city, on his way to
Italy, and Mr. Lockhart asked Irving to dine with him. It was but a
melancholy repast. "Ah," said Scott, as Irving gave him his arm, after
dinner, "the times are changed, my good fellow, since we went over the
Eildon Hills together. It is all nonsense to tell a man that his mind is
not affected when his body is in this state."
Irving retired from the legation in September, 1831, to return home, the
longing to see his native land having become intense; but his arrival in
New York was delayed till May, 1832.
If he had any doubts of the sentiments of his countrymen toward him, his
reception in New York dissipated them. America greeted her most famous
literary man with a spontaneous outburst of love and admiration. The
public banquet in New York, that was long remembered for its brilliancy,
was followed by the tender of the same tribute in other cities, an honor
which his unconquerable shrinking from this kind of publicity compelled
him to decline.
The "Dutch Herodotus, Diedrich Knickerbocker," to use the phrase of a
toast, having come out of one such encounter with fair credit, did not
care to tempt Providence further.
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