Eight o'clock brought us to Hoboken, where, by good luck, the ferry boat
lay ready--and nine o'clock had not struck when we three sat down once
again about a neat small supper-table, before a bright coal fire, in
Archer's snuggery--Tom glorying in the prospect of the races on the
morrow, and I regretting that I had brought to its conclusion--MY FIRST
WEEK IN THE WOODLANDS
THE WARWICK WOODLANDS: ON A SECOND VISIT
THE WAYSIDE INN
On a still evening in October, Frank Forester and Harry Archer were
sitting at the open window of a neat country tavern, in a sequestered
nook of Rockland County, looking out upon as beautiful a view as ever
gladdened the eyes of wandering amateur or artist.
The house was a large old-fashioned stone mansion, certainly not of
later date than the commencement of the revolution; and probably had
been, in its better days, the manor-house of some considerable
proprietor--the windows were of a form very unusual in the States,
opening like doors, with heavy wooden mullions and small lattices, while
the walls were so thick as to form a deep embrasure, provided with a
cushioned windowseat; the parlor, in which the friends had taken up
their temporary domicile, contained two of these pleasant lounges, the
larger looking out due south upon the little garden, with the road
before it, and, beyond the road, a prospect, of which more anon--the
other commanding a space of smooth green turf in front of the stables,
whereon our old acquaintance, Timothy, was leading to and fro a pair of
smoking horses.
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