Colonial days in old New York

								

and, though in the new wild world, it was in truth a home.
Sometimes, silently smoking with the man of the house, there sat in the
winter schemer-licht, the shadow-light or gloaming, around the great
glowing hearth, a group of dusky picturesque forms,--friendly Mohawks,
who, when their furs were safely sold, could be welcomed, and were ever
tolerated and harbored by the kindly Swannekins; and as the shadows
gathered into the “fore-night,” and the fierce wind screamed down the
great chimney and drew out into the darkness long tongues of orange and
scarlet flames from the oak and hickory fires (burning, says one early
traveller, half up the chimney), there was homely comfort within, and
peace in the white man’s wigwam.



    “What matter how the North-wind raved,--

    Blow high, blow low, not all its snow

    Could quench that hearth-fire’s ruddy glow.”
And the blanketed squaw felt in her savage breast the spirit of that
home, and gently nursed her swaddled pappoose; and the silent Wilden,
ever smoking, listened to the Dutch huys-moeder, who, undressing
little Hybertje and Jan and Goosje for their long night’s sleep, sang
to them the nursery song of the Hollanders, of the Fatherland:--



    “Trip a troup a tronjes,

    De vaarken in de boonjes,

    De koejes in de klaver,

    De paarden in de haver,

    De kalver in de lang gras,

    De eenjes in de water plas,

    So groot myn klein poppetje was.”
Or if it were mid-December, the children sang to Kriss-Kringle:--



    “Saint Nicholaes, goed heilig man,

    Trekt uw’ besten tabbard aan,

    En reist daamee naar Amsterdam,

    Von Amsterdam naar Spange,

    Waar Appellen von Orange

    En Appellen von Granaten

    Rollen door de straaten.



    “Saint Nicholaes, myn goeden vriend,

    Ik heb uwe altyd wel gediend,

    Als gy my nu wat wilt geben

    Zal ik un dienen als myn leben.”
Then the warming-pan was filled with hot coals, and thrust warily
between the ice-cold sheets of the children’s beds, and perhaps they
were given a drink of mulled cider or simmering beer; and scarcely were
they sleeping in their warm flannel cosyntjes, or night-caps with
long capes, when the curfew rang out from the church belfry. It was
eight o’clock,--’t Is tijdt te bedde te gaen. The housewife carefully
covered “the dull red brands with ashes over” for the fire of the
morrow, and went to bed. The “tap-toes” sounded from the fort, and
every house was silent.
And as the honest mynheer and his good vrouw slept warmly in
their fireside alcove, and softly between their great feather-beds,
so they also slept serenely; for they were not left unprotected from
marauding Indian or Christian, nor unwatched by the ever-thoughtful
town authorities. Through the little town marched boldly every night
a sturdy kloppermann, or rattle-watch, with strong staff and