“The life of new settlers in a situation like this, when the very foundations of society were to be laid, was a life of exigencies. Every individual took an interest in the general welfare, and contributed their respective shares of intelligence and sagacity to aid plans that embraced important objects relative to the common good. This community seemed to have a common stock, not only of sufferings and enjoyments, but of information and ideas.” When the sun was setting and the cows came home, the family gathered on stools and forms around the well-supplied board, and a plentiful supper of suppawn and milk and a sallet filled the hungry mouths, and was eaten from wooden trenchers and pewter porringers with pewter or silver spoons. The night had come; here were shelter and a warm hearthstone, 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.”