Nick hurried off, and made the best of his way to his cabin, where he was found in the morning in a sleep so sound that some thought it might have been the result of deep potations, but which Nick himself attributed entirely to the excitement of the scene which he had gone through at Sand's Point and Matinecock.
In a note in the margin of the above manuscript my respected relative remarked, that Mr. Volkert Van Gelder, after full and mature investigation of the matter, had come to the conclusion that the adventure of Nick Wanzer was not a mere fabrication, but an actual occurrence.
He was forced to this conclusion by strong circumstantial evidence; for it was established beyond a doubt that Wanzer was at a husking-frolic on the very night alluded to, that he set out for home late, and somewhat involved in liquor; and also that he did own a boat which usually lay in a creek at Peacock's Point.
Nick Wanzer himself pointed out the rock on which the stranger sat when he first made overtures to him; and the situation of Kidd's Rock at Sand's Point is a matter of public notoriety. Under these circumstances, Mr. Van Gelder felt that to express farther doubt would be to cast an unjust imputation upon the character of a worthy and well-meaning citizen.
In commenting farther my respected relative observed, with his usual discrimination and acuteness, that it was a very nice point to decide. That there certainly was strong corroborative evidence of the truth of the story; and that although it was out of the usual course of things, yet that Matinecock was an unusual kind of place, and events might transpire there which would not happen elsewhere. Under these circumstances, and after fully weighing the evidence, he thought that Wanzer's statement was worthy of full credence from all persons of strong faith.
[THE RAIN.]
Patter, patter comes the rain,
Aslant against the window-pane:
I can see the large drops fall—
Mystic globules, perfect all:
See them speed their downward way,
Fall, then weep themselves away.
So, against my weary brain
Thoughts come tapping like the rain:
Radiant thoughts, from far-off spheres,
Strike, then spend themselves in tears.
O ye rain-drops clear and bright!
O ye thoughts on wings of light!
Will ye never, never tell
Of the regions whence ye fell?
Tell us whence ye come, and why
When ye reach us then ye die?
Are ye voiceless evermore,
Only moaning, moaning ever,
When your beauteous forms are driven
'Gainst the cold and glassy pane—
'Gainst this hardened, earth-worn brain,
In your fruitless, vain endeavor
To convey to mortal ears
The language of the far-off spheres?