INTRODUCTORY CHAPTERS XXXVII 



the town of Warwick there were many citizens who would 

 be glad to own a copy of The Warwick Woodlands, which 

 both Mr. Pond and 1 knew was difficult to obtain. There- 

 fore, as pioneers in the Warwick pilgrimage, we deter- 

 mined, in the sweet village on that beautiful August eve- 

 ning to have printed by the "Warwick Valley Dispatch" 

 an edition of The Warwick Woodlands so that the many 

 lovers of Forester and his writings in Warwick and scat- 

 tered throughout the United States and England might 

 possess an edition printed in the village which Forester 

 had made so famous and by a press whose owners vener- 

 ated his name. It was decided to limit the edition to one 

 hundred copies, and to give the first copy to the Historical 

 Society of the Town of Warwick. 



That night it was "early to bed and early to rise," for 

 who would sleep late with such a feast as was to be spread 

 before us the coming charming August day ? At nine 

 o'clock we drew up at Mr. Crissey's home and he and his 

 daughter, Mrs. G. M. Van Duzer, were soon installed in 

 the motor to guide us out of the village on the very same 

 route which Frank had so many times taken with Tom 

 Draw and Harry Archer. 



Little did we know what surprise Mr. Crissey had in 

 store for us and how in selecting his monument to the 

 fame of Frank Forester he had laid the foundation on 

 the very spot immortalized by the latter in that wonderful 

 chapter "Snipe on the Upland" in The Warwick Wood- 

 lands. There were but three miles to go, and our first 

 stop was at the little cemetery, with tumble-down stone 

 walls, of the Minthorne family. Here were stones to 

 Joseph Minthorne and , his good wife Sarah, the former 

 dying in 1847, the latter in 1850. Herbert brought the 

 former on the scene in the words of Tim the Englishman, 

 "Sur, Ay'U put oop t' horses in Measter Minthorn's barn", 

 and later on in Tom Draw's advice to "look the little pond- 

 holes over well on Minthorne's ridge." 



Along the lane at the left cosily situated on the hillside 

 was the Minthorne home, now going to rack and ruin. Mr. 

 Crissey could remember when the little graveyard was 

 neatly and trimly kept, when the house and the garden 

 in front beamed forth comfort and a welcome. Many were 

 the interesting stories told of Mrs. Minthorne's love of 

 flowers, for in that day there were no seed dealers to pur- 



