CHAPTER XI. A PIC NIC.
[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]
It was a beautiful mild mellow Indian summer morning;
one of those soft sweet days, which, when cold
winter is stealing on apace, come like the visit of an
angel, between the first sharp hoar frosts, and the stern
weather that so soon succeeds them, visiting the last
flowers of autumn with more than the balminess of
spring, clothing the woodlands in a robe of more than
summer glory.
The Greenwood lake—sweet lake, unsung by minstrel
lyres, yet worthy as blue Winandermere to be the
immortal dwelling-place of deathless poets—the Greenwood
lake lay broad outstretched beneath the clear and
cloudless sky, pure and unbroken as a Venetian mirror
of the brightest steel, with all its forest shores gleaming
aloft in the unnumbered hues and unrivalled radiance,
which autumn nowhere sheds with a hand so lavish as
in the wild woods of America, and sleeping below,
reflected to the smallest leaf, in the calm surface of those
unfathomed waters.
The skies were full of a soft hazy yellow light, soft
as the sunsets of a Claude; and the great sun, larger
and rounder than his wont, as seen through the gauzy
medium of that rich mellow atmosphere, careered along
more beautiful, if less sublime, wooing the waning
year, like Danae, in a flood of gold, than when he
scorched her in her prime, like Semele, by the intolerable
glory of his unclouded godhead.
The air was breathless, yet so pure and fresh, that
the briskest breeze that ever fanned the ocean, came
not more gratefully to the cheek and brow, than that
-- 133 --
[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]
delicious calm; in which the aspen leaves, alone, might
be seen to quiver, while all the foliage else hung motionless
and voiceless.
A dozen or two of snow-white gulls, unwonted visitants
to those inland waters, were fanning the air with
their broad pinions, or swooping down upon their finny
prey with the speed of lightning; while afar off on a
tall leaflless tree, sat solitary and superb, a huge bald-headed
eagle, looking down over his demesne of wood
and water, an undisputed monarch.
It was a lovely scene indeed, and one well chosen
for a party, such as that which was now preparing to
embark on its smooth waters.
For with his usual knack of rendering every thing of
natural beauty, that the country contained, in some sort
subservient to his own pleasure, Harry had built and
launched a pretty little schooner of some twenty tons
upon that sequestered lake; and she was now lying
with her white sails hanging motionless in the dead
calm, along side of a small pier or jetty composed of
unbarked trunks of cedar projecting from the sandy
shore into the deep clear waters.
A man and a boy both neatly dressed in blouses and
trousers of white linen, with broad brimmed straw hats,
were lounging about on the pier, whence Timothy had
just departed in Tom Draw's large box wagon, laden
with the materials for erecting a tent, and all the batterie
de cuisine, with which he had been despatched
from home on the previous evening.
It was still very early in the morning, so early that
the sun had scarcely arisen twice the breadth of his
own disc above the eastern hill, when the roll of wheels
and clattering of hoofs announced the arrival of the
company, and in a moment afterward the shooting
phaeton drawn by the two fast black cobs, wheeled
round the last turn of the wooded lane, steered by the
knowing finger of Harry himself, and freighted with
-- 134 --
[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]
Fred Heneage and the two girls; while close behind,
under Frank Forester's somewhat rasher pilotage, the
swift-footed chesnuts whirled along the light wagon, at
a rate that was a little too much for Mrs. D'Arcey's
nerves, although, to do her justice, she endured it with
exemplary resignation.
The boy Dick followed as best he might, at a long
hand gallop, upon his master's bay thoroughbred, from
which he sprang to the ground, touching his hat with
one forefinger, as Harry pulled up his smoking cobs,
on the smooth sand at the head of the lakelet.
“Halloa! Teachman, how's this?” asked Harry of
the boatman, before he had so much as risen from his
seat, “are we going to have it dead calm all day long?”
“No, Mr. Aircher, I guess not,” answered the stout
retainer—“I reckon we shall have a breeze down here
torights, when the sun gets a trifle higher. The air's
been kind o' breezing, oncet and agin, on the hill-top
yander, and I did think as how it was a goin' to blow
very fresh. No, no, 'taint a goin' to be calm long
here. See—there it comes now;” he added, as the
woods on the summit of the hill began to tremble gently.
Then, with a long heaving shudder of the many-colored
foliage, the gust stole down the mountain slope,
until wave after wave, the agitated tree tops swayed in
successive undulations like the breast of the awakening
ocean.
Down it came, sweeping freshly over the deep green
meadows, bending the twinkling grass and the gay
wild flowers, and making the solitary trees in the hedgerows
quiver and find a tongue. Then the white sails
flapped loudly, and swung to and fro, and the long red
cross pennant streamed out to its full length, and the
brisk gale sang merrily among the cordage.
In that one second's space, the whole scene was
changed. The bosom of the bright lake, which lay
but a minute since one great and lustrous mirror, was
-- 135 --
[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]
now all broken up into a thousand tiny wavelets—the
rich gorgeous colors which slept there, distinct and
palpable reflections of the autumnal trees, were all confused
and scattered in the twinkling of an eye, though
still as gay and glittering as ever; while on the top of
every puny undulation, a mimic crest of spray flashed
like ten thousand diamonds in the sunlight.
“How beautiful! how beautiful!” exclaimed Maria
D'Arcey, starting up with her hands clasped in ecstacy,
and her fair face radiant with admiration and delight—
“how very nice of you to think of bringing us hither,
Mr. Archer. Oh! do look, do look, mamma—look,
Julia, at that huge bird, how he sits on that bare branch
motionless, and in defiance of the wind, while the
whole tree rocks under him.”
“You have a quick and observant eye, Maria,” said
Archer; “that huge bird, as he sits upon yon quivering
pinnacle, would be a subject for the pencil of Audubon,
and your description would do well for the letter-press.
Do you know what he is?”
“Some bird of prey, I am sure. A fishing hawk,
is he?”
“He is your country's emblem, lady fair,” said
Heneage, laughing, “or I am much mistaken, though
I never saw one before.”
“He is, indeed, a bald-headed eagle.”
“I wish I were within rifle distance of him,” said
Forester?”
“You would not shoot the noble bird, Mr. Forester?”
“Would I not?—I never killed an eagle yet!”
“Nor a sheep, I fancy,” replied Archer; “and yet
I do not suppose you have much desire to kill one.”
“Do you mean to say that you would not shoot that
fellow if you could?”
“I don't know what I might do on the spur of the
moment, I would not deliberately. And yet,” he added,
“I should like to wing-tip the fellow. I would give a
-- 136 --
[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]
good deal to have a tame eagle. But come, we are
losing time. Let us get the awning up, and help the
ladies on board. Sit still for a few minutes, girls.
Stand to the horses' heads, Dick. Now Jem, now
Teachman, look alive. Yo-hoa! boys.”
In less than five minutes, a pretty awning of blue
and white canvass in broad stripes, was raised over the
open space abaft the cabin, soft cushions were arranged
on the seats, and a carpet spread on the floor of the
cockpit. The tack of the mainsail was triced up, and
the boom hauled up a little, so as to swing clear of the
ridge of the awning.
“Now step on board, if you please. Help Mrs.
D'Arcey, Frank. Jump on the gunwale, Maria, give
me your hand; that's it. Welcome on board `the
Princess Royal.' Now, Teachman, you must help
Dick to take the horses back to the tavern. We will
push off, and get her under way without you, and then
lay to. You can paddle out to us in the bark canoe.”
“Are the rifles on board, Teachman?” asked Forester.
“Is there anything to eat or drink?” enquired Heneage.
“To be sure there is,” answered Maria, “can you
suspect Mr. Archer of such ungallantry as an intention
to starve us.”
Oh no, sister, he does not care in the least about
us; he is only thinking of champagne punch or something
of the kind. Don't you think so Mr. Forester?”
“I think you cannot help being ungrateful, because
it is the nature of womankind to be so,” answered
Forester.
“That is not answering my question.”
“Well then, no. That is answering it. I think all
he had in his mind was ministering to the voracious
appetites of those most voracious of all earthly—I beg
their pardon—heavenly beings commonly called fine
ladies. Will that suit you?”
-- 137 --
[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]
No it will not, you atrocious wretched creature,”
cried Maria.
“Then I think all that you have left in his head, is
a desire to attend to the smallest comfort of one fair
lady in particular.”
And he accompanied his words with a glance so
humorous and meaning, that while her sister laughed
merrily, Maria turned away conscious that her cheeks
were burning far too brightly to endure observation.
Meanwhile all were on board, the moorings were cast
off, sail after sail was trimmed, and within fewer
minutes than it has occupied to describe it, the gay
pleasure boat was dancing away from the shore over
the sunlit waters, dashing the foam with merry music
from her sharp bows, and leaving a long wake of froth
behind her.
The merry breeze sang in her vocal riggings, and
blew out the white ensign of old England at the peak,
and the long red cross pennant at her main, twinkling
and flashing in the lustrous air like a forked tongue of
pure flame.
Away they dashed past wood-crowned isle, and
rocky headland, with the white gulls swooping and
soaring round them, no fairer and scarce fleeter—now
scaring the woodduck or the green-winged teal from
some reedy shoal beneath some islet's lea, now catching
a glimpse of some shy deer, which had come down the
winding path under the dark green hemlock, and
through the crimson-spired sassafrass, to drink of those
crystal waters.
The time itself was so joyous, and so delicious all
the influences of the brisk mountain air, the gorgeous
sunlight, the blue ripples of the lake, and the redundant
foliage of the many-colored forest, that had they
been careworn and melancholy voyagers, their spirits
must have been raised and enkindled by the mere
accidents of nature.
-- 138 --
[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]
But as it was with minds all harmonized in their
general tastes, all ready to be pleased themselves, and
eager each to please the other, words cannot describe
the mingled tones of sentiment and mirth, of deepest
feeling and of reckless gaiety, which pervaded that
happy party.
Ere long the little bark swept up abreast of the tall
thunder-splintered tree, upon the highest pinnacle of
which the great bald eagle still sat sublime and
fearless.
His airy perch wavered at times so much, and bent
so suddenly before the breeze, that it was difficult to
believe it possible that he should long hold fast to that
wind-rocked station. But never for one moment did
the royal bird relax the strong grasp of his iron talons,
or cease to gaze about him with a clear undaunted
eye. Once or twice only, when the breeze blew
most sturdily, he spread his wide vans abroad, and
clapped them over his back, with a wild thrilling cry,
as if he would have dared the storm.
The swift pleasure boat was gliding now within fifty
yards of the point of the rocky headland, whereon the
tall tree grew, which had served him for his daily perch
beyond the memory of man, perchance before the time,
if all that is surmised of the extended age of this king
of birds be true, when any white men trod the shores
of America.
Still he sat there serene and fearless, gazing down
with far less of anxiety upon the merry group which
passed along beneath his eyry, than they displayed as
they looked wistfully on him, with eager eyes and
throbbing bosoms.
“How beautiful he is,” said Julia—“I fancy I can
read in the yellow glare of his fixed eye, which I can
see even hence, the fearlessness and pride of his wild
nature.”
“See! see!” cried Maria—“see how he claps his
-- 139 --
[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]
great wings; I wish I could see him take flight.—Shout
at him, Mr. Archer—can not you scare him from his
perch?”
“I will try,” said Harry, “but he seems very bold.
Give us a screech, lads, join in chorus!”
And as he spoke, he raised his voice in a long wild
hunting halloa, in which he was joined by Forester
and Heneage, protracting the shrill cadence until the
opposite hill sent back the cry from every rock and
salient knoll in strangely blended echo.
The wild bird spread his wings, gathered his mighty
talons lazily under him, and fanned the air for it might
be twenty seconds, poising himself right above the
bare white pinnacle upon which he had been sitting.
And they could see him bend his neck and turn his
strong beak downward to gaze upon them, as if
wondering what could be the intention of that unwonted
clamor.
But as the long whoop died away, and the tumultuous
answer of the mountains faded out, fainter and
fainter, and heard at longer intervals, as they receded
into the far distance, the distrust of the eagle seemed
to pass away likewise; and, as the wonted silence resumed
its reign over the lonely lake, he folded his
broad vans, and dropping his yellow legs, resumed his
seat as calmly as if he had never been disturbed.
During this little incident Forester, who was at the
helm, had shifted it a little so as to make the boat lose
her way, and remain for a few seconds nearly motionless.
But as the bird settled down again upon his perch
so boldly, he shouted,
“By Jove! that is too impudent. He shall get out
of that, or my name is not Frank Forester. Here, lay
hold of the tiller Heneage.”
And without uttering another word, or even waiting
until his friend had relieved him at the helm he sprang
-- 140 --
[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]
forward, passed the ladies, and jumping lightly on the
half deck caught up a rifle, which lay secured in beckets
near the bows, and raising it to his eye took a long and
deliberate aim.
“Oh! don't, don't Mr. Forester,” cried Maria, bending
forward her beautiful face growing pale as death, with
her hands clasped together.—“Don't hurt that noble
bird, I beseech you.”
“You need not be afraid, Maria, he cannot hit him
even by accident.”
Frank drew the trigger, and as the piece flashed,
cried aloud,
“Nor would if I could, I only shot at the tree!”
“And a capital shot too,” exclaimed Archer, as a
piece of bark was stripped from the white limb not
three inches below the eagle's perch, and whirled away
by the wind. Even at this provocation the haughty
bird appeared to be either too lazy or too bold to make
a rapid or undignified retreat, but uttering the shrill
clanging note of defiance, once more unfolded his dark
pinions, and sailed away slowly for a few fathoms,
when quickening his flight a little, he began to scale
the upper air in a series of easy and graceful circles.
But at the very moment when the bird took wing,
while every eye was rivetted on the tree-top, to mark the
effects of Forester's shot; while Heneage himself, whose
hand had scarce yet grasped the tiller, was gazing upward,
careless of his trust, a sudden flaw rushed down
a gorge in the mountain side, and struck full upon the
sails as the boat lay with her broadside shoreward.
It was a sharp and sudden gust, and so vehemently
did it fill the closely trimmed sails, that it careened her
dangerously, and drove her so forcibly through the
water, that the ripples burst over the gunwale, and
overflowed the washboards.
As she turned over almost on her beam-ends, Frank,
who was standing carelessly forward with his rifle in
-- 141 --
[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]
his hand, was pitched clean overboard to leeward, and
plunged with a heavy splash into the deep lake.
“Her helm! her helm!” cried Harry, leaping impetuously
aft. “For God's sake! mind her helm. Let
every thing fly fore and aft! up with her—up with
her—into the wind's eye!”
There was a moment of real danger; and although
it was but a moment—for the sheets were eased off in
a second, and the lively boat came up to the wind, and
all was safe in less than ten seconds after the flaw struck
her—that moment was enough to distract the attention
of every person from Forester, who, embarrassed by
his clothes, and hampered by the heavy rifle of which
he kept firm hold, had failed, though a light and powerful
swimmer, to catch the channels of the boat as she
went about.
The eye of every person, except Maria D'Arcey,
who, in that moment of real danger which had blanched
the cheeks and closed the eye-lids of all on board, except
those who were too busy to give fear a thought, had
retained all her calm and feminine presence of mind.
Seeing what had escaped the notice of the others,
she had leaned over the quarter of the boat as it swept
past Forester, sputtering and blowing the water from
his mouth, and making violent efforts to reach her, and
cast the end of a long scarf which she wore, of strong
rich brocade, with so much coolness and adroitness,
that it fell into his hand.
With a gay smile and nod, even amid his own danger,
he clutched it, seeing, for he too was perfectly
unflurried, that the risk to the boat had already passed
over; and was wondering whether she would have
strength to hold on to it, against the force of the little
sea which the flaw had knocked up, when to his great
surprise and admiration, she cast the other end of it
twice round a belaying-pin in the stern-sheets, and made
it firm in a second.
-- 142 --
[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]
Another moment, and the flaw had died out, and
the little vessel was rocking on the squabbling waters,
becalmed and motionless, in a small land-locked bight.
Just at this moment Harry missed him, and as he
cried aloud, “Good God! where is Frank?”—that
worthy made his appearance, scrambling over the taffrail
with the long rifle still grasped in his right hand.
“Here I am, Harry,” he replied, laughing, “small
thanks to you for that same!”
“And no thanks to you, Frank, that we are not all
at the bottom of the lake!” answered Harry, laughing.
“But, how the deuce did you get out?”
“By nothing but Miss D'Arcey's fearlessness and
ready wit!” said Forester.
But words had been spoken in her ear of approbation
dearer far to her than those, while the attention of the
others was distracted by the re-appearance of Forester;
for in the energy and excitement of the moment, Fred
Heneage caught her hand, and whispered something in
vehement low tones, which made her cheek turn crimson,
but with no painful emotion, if one might judge
from the quick glance of intelligence that was exchanged
between them.
Just at that moment her mother turned her head, saw
what was passing, and looked away again with a half
pleased, half melancholy smile. Then as she raised
her eyes, she met Archer's penetrating glance, reading
her mind as it were, and changing, as he felt himself
caught in the fact, into a cheery, joyous look, which
assured her that the thoughts of each were dwelling on
the same subject.
That interchange of glances, that bye-play of a moment,
between those four persons, established instantly
a sort of free-masonry between the parties, and it might
be said that the object of the pic nic was attained.
By this time Teachman had come up, paddling rapidly
in the bark canoe, and with his aid, the sailing
-- 143 --
[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]
boat was speedily got out of the little cove, and stood
across the lake until they reached the fishing ground or
sunken island.
Then they heaved their grapnels overboard, and
while Frank retired into the little cabin to array himself
in dry apparel, the others set to work in earnest
fishing; and between laughing and chatting, and baiting
the ladies' hooks, and pulling up every two or three
minutes a fine broad backed yellow bass, or big sharp
finned perch, the morning passed away rapidly, until at
a little after two o'clock, Timothy's clearly blown keybugle
was heard from the small bay wherein he had established
his menage, pealing out with the well-known
cadences of “Oh! the roast beef of old England!”
“There goes our dinner-bell,” cried Harry, “stand
by to heave in the grapnel. We must disturb you I
fear, fair lady, and you Master Fred,” he added, stepping
forward to the bows where the couple had been
sitting apart under the shade of the foresail for the last
hour; Teachman and the boy being moored in the bark
canoe a hundred yards astern, catching more fish than
the whole party. Maria started at his voice, and looked
a little guilty; and then in an effort to cover her confusion,
pulled up her line suddenly, which had been
dangling in the water at its own sweet will, and which,
when pulled up, proved baitless.
Harry bit his lip, to restrain a laugh; and then pretending
not to notice her embarrassment, crossed the
bows toward Fred, saying,
“Well, old fellow, what sport?”
“Not much, Harry. In fact none—I have not had
a bite.”
To demonstrate which fact, incontinently he hauled
in his line, which came up tight, and not without strong
resistance, and lo! at the end of it, the finest fish that
had been taken yet, an eight pound pickerel, which
would not have been brought in so easily, had it not
-- 144 --
[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]
nearly drowned itself already by its unheeded struggles
to escape from the stout drop-line.
This was too much, and Harry burst into a loud
laugh, for which Fred Heneage rewarded him by a
sharp punch in the ribs, and a general burst of mirth
followed; for those who did not know the joke laughed
loud to make the others believe that they did, while
those who did, laughed louder yet to prove that their
“withers were unwrung.”
Meanwhile the boat was under way, and they soon
reached the sylvan nook, chosen by Harry's taste, many
a day before, where Timothy had pitched their tent.
It was a little bay with a white gravel beach, and a
smooth slope of greensward bisected by a dancing rill,
which fell down in the back-ground from a slaty rock
in a beautiful and romantic waterfall. The narrow
amphitheatre was girdled by dark hemlocks and rich
feathery junipers, and over-canopied by an immemorial
oak, under the shade of which the marquee was pitched,
and the board spread with every dainty that the wood,
the wild, the water could yield to Tim's cuisine, with
wines from the sunny south, and fruits from the islands
of the western sea, and every thing that would be least
expected at such a sylvan meal.
Light hearts make very moderate wit pleasant; and
loving ones can find deep sentiment in common places,
and poetry in running brooks, and much soft meaning
in the rustle of the leaves, which to duller souls, unsharpened
by the great magician's whet-stone, are mute
things and voiceless. But there was much true wit,
much real poetry of thought and words, much powerful
and earnest though unstudied eloquence, brought
out at that happy meal. For there were clear heads
there and powerful intellects, if for the most part they
displayed it not in the ordinary routine of society; and
cultivated spirits and kind tender hearts.
That merry meal went off, as all pleasure parties
-- 145 --
[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]
should, and as so few do really go off, most merrily,
and long left gay and happy memories in the hearts of
all present.
After the board was cleared, and the moderate cups
sipped, they strolled forth, two and two, through the
wild lovely wood-walks, so narrow that one pair only
could walk abreast, to visit the well-head of the stream,
on the bank of which they had feasted.
And Forester, securing Julia's arm as if accidentally,
while Harry gave his to the elder lady, Fred was
enabled to monopolize his lady-love, and linger in the
near, whispering those soft nothings, which are so dear
to lovers, so dull to all the world beside.
What Forester was about with his fair one the
chronicler hath not recorded; but, from the constant
bursts of artless laughter which rang from the generally
quiet sister's lips, it would seem that he was as profuse
of merry, as was his friend of soft, nonsense.
Archer meanwhile, and mamma, conversed long,
earnestly, and evidently with deep and serious interest;
and at last the lady replied to some words which he
spoke so low as to be inaudible except to herself only,
“I promise you—I promise you. Indeed, if she wish
it, it shall be so. Why should you doubt it? I have
no desire but for her happiness. If she say yes, it shall
be so.”
“And soon?” asked Harry.
“And soon,” she replied, “though I do not see why
you should be in such a hurry.”
“Oh! my dear madam,” he replied, laughing, “you
know I cannot have my Shooting Box degraded, for
whole weeks together, into a nursery for tame lovers!
Besides,” he added, more seriously, “I think when
such things are to be done at all, they were best done,
like all other terrible things, quickly.”
“I believe you are right, Mr. Archer. It shall be as
soon as they please.”
-- 146 --
[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]
“You promise me that?”
“I do.”
“Honor bright! Remember, I may claim your
promise in a way you dream not of,” he answered.
“Claim it, as you will; it is a promise, with that one
proviso.”
“Oh! that, my dear lady, is a proviso no longer.
She has said `yes,' I am certain, half an hour ago.
Look there, if you please.”
And with the word, he pointed through a little opening
in the trees, commanding a turn of the winding
path, about fifty yards behind, and as many feet below
them, along which Heneage was sauntering slowly with
Maria, his arm encircling her slender waist, and her
eyes upturned to her lover's face, with all the beautiful
confidence of a pure youthful heart.
No more was said then, and the homeward drive
through the beautiful autumnal woods by moonlight,
was very silent; for no one felt inclined to break in by
words upon the calm and thoughtful happiness which
had succeeded to the day's lightsome merriment.
But when the ladies had been set down at the Elms,
and when the friends alighted from the wagon, at the
door of the Shooting Box, Heneage grasped both the
hands of Archer in his own, and said, in a tone somewhat
husky with emotion,
“God bless you, Harry, you are the best, and I am
the happiest fellow living.”
“I trust you may be so. Heaven grant it,” replied
Archer, solemnly, and something like a tear, unwonted
and unbidden guest, twinkled a moment on his eye-lash.
“And now, mark me; that you may be so, act
quickly. Maria has said yes, mamma has consented,
yet—mark my words, if Theodore return before you
two are one, there will be a row yet.”
“Good Harry, `I lack no spur
To prick the sides of my intent.”'
-- 147 --
[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]
“See then,” said Archer, laughing, “see then, old
friend, that you
`Live not a coward in your own esteem,
Letting I dare not wait upon I would,
Like the poor cat i' the adage.'
But come, we can't stand here all night; and here
comes Forester. Let us go in. I see there is a good
fire burning in the library; and if I do not broach the
choicest batch of Burgundy to-night on this side the
Atlantic, then call me a false fellow, and no true
Etonian.”
“Hurrah!” responded Frank, pulling up the one
horse wagon at the door, at the same moment—
“Hurrah! Eton against the world, fellows. Floreat
Etona!”
“We will have that anon, and two or three other
toasts I wot of, in some nuits Richelieu, such as the
stern old cardinal would have pardoned Cinq Mars but
to taste. Come in, boys. Take some rum, Timothy,
and make yourselves a bowl of punch; we'll make a
night of it to-night, if we never make another in my
Shooting Box.”
-- 148 -- p145-167
Herbert, Henry William, 1807-1858 [1846], My shooting box (Carey & Hart, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf145].
