"Right, Frank," he said; "a man may travel many a day, and not see any
thing to beat the vale of Sugar-loaf--so named from that cone-like hill,
over the pond there--that peak is eight hundred feet above tide water.
Those blue hills, to the far right, are the Hudson Highlands; that bold
bluff is the far-famed Anthony's Nose; that ridge across the vale, the
second ridge I mean, is the Shawangunks; and those three rounded
summits, farther yet--those are the Kaatskills! But now a truce with the
romantic, for there lies Warwick, and this keen mountain air has found
me a fresh appetite!"
Away we went again, rattling down the hills, nothing daunted at their
steep pitches, with the nags just as fresh as when they started,
champing and snapping at their curbs, till on a table-land above the
brook, with the tin steeple of its church peering from out the massy
foliage of sycamore and locust, the haven of our journey lay before us.
"Hilloa, hill-oa ho! whoop! who-whoop!" and with a cheery shout, as we
clattered across the wooden bridge, he roused out half the population of
the village.
"Ya ha ha!--ya yah!" yelled a great woolly-headed coal-black negro.
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