114 WINTER SKETCHES. 



Whitefield had preached, standing on the broad 

 veranda, to spell-bound crowds on the lawn, 

 who had been summoned from miles around 

 by horsemen sent out by Van Cortlandt. 



All this pageant passed before me in a 

 vision of the past, and then it was speedily 

 dispelled as the shrill v/histle of a passing 

 locomotive echoed over the now quiet lone- 

 liness of the scene. Then, bidding adieu to 

 the lady of the manor, I descended the steps 

 over which the spurs of Revolutionary heroes 

 had clanked more than a century ago, and 

 mounted my horse from the block where they 

 were accustomed to take their "stirrup-cup" 

 to the health of their entertainers. 



Turning off from the Hudson at this point, 

 we now began to follow the Croton towards 

 its source. The little river was *' dark as win- 

 ter in its flow," for the boulders covered with 

 snow and with shining icy jewels made the 

 water black by their contrast, and the recent 

 freshet, which had not subsided, was playing 

 wild music along the foamy channel. For 

 miles, until we reached the lake beyond the 

 present reservoir, the stream sparkled and 

 danced in the sunlight of its winter glory. 



