XXXIV INTRODUCTORY CHAPTERS 



above tide water. He goes on and describes the "blue 

 hills, to the far right the Hudson Highlands, the bold 

 bluff is the far-famed Anthony's nose, and those three 

 rounded summits farther yet — those are the Kaatskills" 

 where, since the memorable trip of Forester and his 

 friends, "Eip Van Winkle", as told by Washington Irving, 

 had slept his twenty years and has been immortalized by 

 "Joe" Jefferson. He writes about "rattling down the 

 hills **** the steep pitches" down which we coasted mile 

 after mile, finally reaching the floor of the valley, then 

 running on a good road to Greenwood Lake, where we 

 arrived by 4.30 and had time to go to the sandy beach, 

 called by the sporting author "Silvery Sand." 



We ardently wished that our time was free so that in 

 the fall we might see, ourselves, the beauties traced by 

 Forester in his chapter entitled "Day the Sixth" when on 

 a beautiful day 



"Not a breath of air to ruffle the calm basin of 

 the Greenwood Lake — *** the hues of the in- 

 numerable maples, in their various stages of de- 

 cay, purple and crimson, and bright georgeous 

 scarlet, were contrasted with the rich chrome 

 yellow of the birch and poplars, the sere red 

 leaves of the gigantic oaks, and with the ever 

 verdant plumage of the junipers, clustered in 

 mossy patches on every rocky promontory, and 

 the tall spires of the dark pines and hemlock." 



We wended our way backwards on our trail for a mile 

 or two, then to the left and a short twentj^ minutes brought 

 us to the edge of sweet Warwick, where the first sign that 

 greeted our eyes was Forester Avenue a name Mr. Pond's 

 friend, Mr. J. H. Crissey, had had changed by a vote of 

 the Warwick Council, from Lake Street to that of the 

 author who made Warwick famous. 



Mr. Pond had heard that the Demerest House, which 

 was formerly kept by a grandson of Tom Draw, was still 

 in existence, and we soon located it opposite the railway 

 station, a comfortable brick inn, whose proprietor greeted 

 us warmly and proudly showed us in the dining room a 

 good picture of uncle Tom Demerest, and in the smoking 

 room, near the mantel, two hooks from which formerly 

 hung the beautiful English gun presented by Frank For- 



