uremberg, and chose his theme among the exiles of Acadia.
It was not Irving who invested the Hudson with romance, but the Hudson that inspired Irving.
In 1786, when Mrs. Josiah Quincy, then a young girl, sailed up that river in a sloop, she wrote: Our captain had a legend for every scene, either supernatural or traditional, or of actual occurrence during the war; and not a mountain reared its head, unconnected with some marvelous story.
Irving was then a child of three years old, but Rip Van Winkle and Ichabod Crane — or their equivalents — were already on the spot, waiting for some one of sufficient literary talent to tell their tale.
Margaret Fuller grew up at a time when our literature was still essentially colonial; not for want of material, but for want of self-confidence.
As Theodore Parker said in his vigorous vernacular, somewhat later, the cultivated American literature was exotic, and the native literature was rowdy, consisting mainly of campaign squibs, coarse satire