Wolfert Webber; or, Golden Dreams.--Irving's Tales of a Traveler, (painting)
Appears in exhibition catalog as entry no. 64
Wolfert lay on his back, his night-cap drawn over his forehead, his eyes closed, his whole visage the picture of death. He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt his end approaching, and that he had no time to lose. The lawyer nibbed his pen, spread out his paper, and prepared to write. "I give and bequeath," said Wolfert, faintly, "my small farm--" "What! all!" exclaimed the lawyer. Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the lawyer. "Yes--all," he said. . . . "I wish him joy that inherits it," said the little lawyer, chuckling and rubbing his hands involuntarily. "What do you mean," said Wolfert, again opening his eyes. "That he'll be one of the richest men in the place," cried little rollebuck. The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the threshold of existence; . . . "You don"t say so, " exclaimed he! "Faith, but I do," rejoined the other. "Why, when that great field, and that huge meadow, come to be laid out in streets, and cup up into snug building lots,--why, whoever owns it need not pull off his hat to the patroon." "Say you so," cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg out of bed; "why, then, I think I'll not make my will yet!" [P. 15.]
Catalogue of Pictures, Statuary, and Bronzes in the Gallery of Joseph Harrison, Jr., Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia. 1870.