Note 66 — NO. XIV.—SATURDAY, SEPT. 16, 1807.

The writer of the reminiscence, whom we have already cited in the previous mention of Cockloft Hall, Mr. W. A. Whitehead of Newark, describes the recent condition of the summer-house. “The old man,” who serves the purpose of the narrator, “sighed and turned away his head, while he led the way to a small building standing not far from the river’s brink, and near an artificial basin or pond, into which, as the tide was full, the Passaic was pouring some of its surplus waters through a narrow sluice. It was octagonal in shape, about eighteen feet in diameter, containing only one apartment, with a door facing the river on the east, and having windows opening toward each of the other three cardinal points. It was built of stone, and had been originally weather-boarded, although most of the boards had fallen off. It had evidently been constructed with great care, being fully plastered within and papered, having an ornamental cornice and chair-board, an arched doorway, and cut stone steps: all indicating a fastidiousness of finish not ordinarily found elsewhere than in dwellings; but it was far gone toward utter ruin, the window sashes being all out, the door gone, and the mutilated wood-work showing it to be the resort only of the idle and the vicious. On looking to my companion for an explanation, he said:—

“‘This, sir, was the Cockloft summer-house, and this the fish-pond which Irving mentions when giving the portrait of the old proprietor. You may remember the passage, “an odd notion of the old gentleman was to blow up a large bed of rocks for the purpose of having a fish-pond, although the river ran at about one hundred yards’ distance from the house, and was well stored with fish, but there was nothing, he said, like having things to one’s self. And he would have a summer-house built on the margin of the fish-pond; he would have it surrounded with elms and willows; and he would have a cellar dug under it, for some incomprehensible purpose, which remains a secret to this day.’ ‘As I remember it, in the days of youth,’ continued my aged friend, ‘with its window-seats and lockers, I think it requires no “Will Wizard” to solve the mystery of the cellar, but that there the bottles were kept that were wont to surrender their exhilarating contents at the summons of the occupants of the comfortable apartment above.’

“As I commented on the peculiar position of the building, my companion remarked:—

“‘Here, too, you see an illustration of a peculiarity of the elder “Cockloft.” “He was determined,” says Irving, “to have all his views on his own land, and be beholden to no man for a prospect.” So he placed, you see, the door of his summer-house on the side toward the water, while the windows all look inland.’”