Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 2 | Page 2

Amsterdam and fretted himself to
death lest it should be discovered. He remembered that his mother had
spoken of this Spiegel and that her father was the miser's rightful heir,
and it now appeared that he was one of Heyden's forbears too. In his
dream that night the Fleming stepped out of the portrait, led him, as he
had done before, to the well, where he smiled and vanished. Dolph
reflected, next morning, that these things had been ordered to bring

together the two branches of the family and disclose the whereabouts of
the treasure that it should inherit. So full was he of this idea that he
went back to New Amsterdam by the first schooner, to the surprise of
the Heer and the regret of his daughter.
After the truant had been received with execrations by the doctor and
with delight by his mother, who believed that spooks had run off with
him, and with astonishment, as a hero of romance, by the public, he
made for the haunted premises at the first opportunity and began to
angle at the disused well. Presently he found his hook entangled in
something at the bottom, and on lifting slowly he discovered that he
had secured a fine silver porringer, with lid held down by twisted wire.
It was the work of a moment to wrench off the lid, when he found the
vessel to be filled with golden pieces. His fishing that day was attended
with such luck as never fell to an angler before, for there were other
pieces of plate down there, all engraved with the Spiegel arms and all
containing treasure.
By encouraging the most dreadful stories about the spot, in order to
keep the people wide away from it, he accomplished the removal of his
prizes bit by bit from their place of concealment to his home. His
unaccounted absence in Albany and his dealings with the dead had
prepared his neighbors for any change in himself or his condition, and
now that he always had a bottle of schnapps for the men and a pot of
tea for the women, and was good to his mother, they said that they had
always known that when he changed it would be for the better,--at
which his old detractors lifted their eyebrows significantly--and when
asked to dinner by him they always accepted.
Moreover, they made merry when the day came round for his wedding
with the little maid of Albany. They likewise elected him a member of
the corporation, to which he bequeathed some of the Spiegel plate and
often helped the other city fathers to empty the big punch-bowl. Indeed,
it was at one of these corporation feasts that he died of apoplexy. He
was buried with honors in the yard of the Dutch church in Garden
Street.

THE KNELL AT THE WEDDING
A young New Yorker had laid such siege to the heart of a certain
belle-- this was back in the Knickerbocker days when people married

for love-- that everybody said the banns were as good as published; but
everybody did not know, for one fine morning my lady went to church
with another gentleman--not her father, though old enough to be--and
when the two came out they were man and wife. The elderly man was
rich. After the first paroxysm of rage and disappointment had passed,
the lover withdrew from the world and devoted himself to study; nor
when he learned that she had become a widow, with comfortable
belongings derived from the estate of the late lamented, did he renew
acquaintance with her, and he smiled bitterly when he heard of her
second marriage to a young adventurer who led her a wretched life, but
atoned for his sins, in a measure, by dying soon enough afterward to
leave a part of her fortune unspent.
In the lapse of time the doubly widowed returned to New York, where
she met again the lover of her youth. Mr. Ellenwood had acquired the
reserve of a scholar, and had often puzzled his friends with his
eccentricities; but after a few meetings with the object of his young
affection he came out of his glooms, and with respectful formality laid
again at her feet the heart she had trampled on forty years before.
Though both of them were well on in life, the news of their engagement
made little of a sensation. The widow was still fair; the wooer was quiet,
refined, and courtly, and the union of their fortunes would assure a
competence for the years that might be left to them. The church of St.
Paul, on Broadway, was appointed for the wedding, and it was a whim
of the groom that his bride should meet him there. At the appointed
hour a company