THE WARWICK WOODLANDS, 



ON A SECOND VISIT. 



THE WAYSIDE INN. 



ON a still clear October evening, Frank Forester and Harry 

 Archer were sitting at the open window of a neat country tav- 

 ern, in a sequestered nook of Rockland County, looking out 

 upon as beautiful a view as ever gladdened the eyes of wander- 

 ing 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 window- 

 seat ; the parlor, in which the friends had taken up their tem- 

 porary 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. The dark- 

 green drag, with all its winter furniture of gaily decorated bear- 

 skins, stood half-seen beneath the low-arched wagon-shed. 



The walls of the room the best room of the tavern were 

 pannelled with the dark glossy wood of the black cherry, and 

 a huge mantel-piece of the same material, took up at least one 

 half of the side opposite the larger window, while on the hearth 

 below reposed a glowing bed of red-hot hickory ashes, a foot at 

 least in depth, a huge log of that glorious fuel blazing upon 

 the massive andirons. Two large, deep gun-cases, a leathern 





