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There had been a very heavy shower during the
night, but it had cleared off bright and cold before
morning broke; and now, as the sun rose cloudless
in the pearly and transparent sky, no view can be conceived
more beautiful than that which lay before the
eyes of Heneage, who had arisen early, and stood
gazing over the landscape from the porch of the shooting
box.

The summits of the Warwick hills, round-headed,
bold and vast, cut sharp and clear, with all their wooded
outlines, in dark purple masses against the lucent sky;
beneath this massive screen, sparkling with dew, and
gay with ten thousand gorgeous hues, the noble woods
beyond the little river, concealed the level fields which
spread their gentle undulations to the foot of the distant
mountains. Nearer yet to the eye, in the middle
ground, the wild rocky bank fringed with its feathery
junipers, and carpeted with glossy leaved azalia, was
veiled by the thin mist, which seethed up, white as
snow, from the bed of the rushing torrent, to be dissipated,
long ere it reached the upper air, by the increasing
power of the sunbeams.

In the foreground the smoothly shaven lawn, as
green as an emerald, and almost as bright from the
lustre of the quick glancing dew-drops, sloped away
gently from the portico to the stream's margin, broken
by two or three clumps only of rare exotic rhododendrons,
and one large osier basket full of roses of all
colors and varieties, with a luxuriant honeysuckle entwined
about its handle.

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

Heneage stood there perhaps ten minutes, looking
out with a well pleased eye, and framing to himself,
half unconsciously, ideal pictures of some such solitude
as this to be his “dwelling place,”

“With one fair spirit for his minister,”

While he was still gazing at the little landscape, discovering
some new charm every moment, and yet
wondering within himself whether Harry did not find
it very lonely all by himself there in the winter, a
quick firm footstep resounded on the hall floor behind
him, and Archer's cheerful voice crying aloud,

“The top of the morning to you, Master Fred. I
had no notion that you were such an early man. Why
the sun is scarce out of bed yet.”

“Oh! yes, in the country I like to be moving early;
besides I thought you breakfasted about this time.”

“Never, before eight, unless when I am going to
make an early start and a long day's shooting. And
never at all, when Forester's up here. Timothy tells
him all sorts of lies about the time, but it is all to
no purpose; the little devil knows instinctively what
o'clock it is, even with the window shutters closed, and
nothing can induce him to get up in what he calls the
night.”

“And you classed me as being in the same category,
hey?”

“To say the truth, yes! and I half believe this fit of
early rising is only accidental. Perhaps the fair Maria's
charms have banished `nature's soft nurse.”'

“You be hanged!—If the truth must be told, it was
the infernal racket that your fat friend kicked up, when
he was starting, not metaphorically, but literally, in the

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

night, that aroused me. Where the deuce did he sleep?
and what took him away this morning? I thought he
was going to stay and shoot with us to day!”

“He slept upon the sofa in the library—he went
away to get his gun and Dash, and his shooting toggery.
How did he rouse you? I did not hear him.”

“Roaring like a bull for his bitters! what the devil!
are bitters, old fellow?”

“Oh! you will learn that soon, if you cultivate Tom.
By the way, what do you think of him?”

“Think!—By the Lord! He is far beyond all thinking
about. If he were not alive now, I should be quite
certain that Shakspeare must have made Falstaff after
him; as it is, I fancy, nature must have made him after
Falstaff.”

“All but the cowardice, I grant you—but the old
dog is pluck to the back-bone.”

“How did you make him out?”

“I discovered him—and it is not the act of my life
of which I am the least proud. I expect that I shall
go down to history, at least, side by side with Columbus,
Vasco di Gama, and such like worthies, as the discoverer
of Tom Draw, the great American original.”

“He is indeed an original!”

He is the original—the only original I have ever met
with in the United States. It is an odd thing, and I
cannot account for it, but original and eccentric characters
appear to me to be the growth of old countries.
But come, Tom will be back to breakfast soon, and by
that time Frank will be afoot, and bellowing for his
breakfast, of which he will eat more than any two
people in the room, while swearing all the time that he
has no appetite. Do you like to walk round, and look
at the stable and the kennels?”

“Of all things. I have been wondering where they
are placed; for there is no glimpse to be seen of any
out-house.”

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

“This way; I will show you; they are close by,
though hidden by my trees and trellices.”

The cottage stood, as it has been described, midway
the slope of the hill which arose very rapidly behind;
with an open grove of tall white oaks and
hickories growing close down to the rear of the building,
and sweeping off in a long receding curve from
either of the angles, to the right hand and left, a few
scattered trees only, dotting the lawn and flanking the
ends of the cottage.

A few yards only within the thick wood, at each extremity
of the house, a tall latticed screen composed of
rough gnarled branches, unbarked and fresh from the
forest, wound away in irregular lines until it was lost
to sight in the aisles of the woodland, covered with ivy
and parasitic creepers, such as thrive in the shade.

This rustic fence, which was at least eight feet in
height, and covered with perrenial verdure, completely
effected the concealment of the out-buildings, while it
was in its turn so far hidden by the outskirts of the
grove, as to give no appearance of regularity or artificial
stiffness.

Opening a small doorway in the fence, not far from
the gable of the house, Harry led his friend into a narrow
gravel walk, which wound for a short distance in
and out among the tall trees and then entered a little
court, immediately behind the cottage, covered with
smooth white gravel, and having in the centre a large
tank four or five feet deep by twelve in diameter, full of
beautifully clear spring water, which rushed into it continually
from a stone spout with a sweet gurgling sound,
and passed out again by an aperture below the lip of
masonry without ever overflowing it. In this tank there
stood half a dozen submerged flower pots containing
water lilies of different colors and varieties, their broad
glossy leaves floating upon the transparent surface, and
affording a grateful shadow to the gold and silver fish

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

with which it was stocked abundantly. In addition to
these finny sparklers, a dozen or two, at least, of beautiful
tame summer ducks were dipping and disporting
themselves on the clear waters, or preening their
feathers on the brink, while on the gravel of the courtyard
twenty or thirty little snow-white bantams were
strutting about proud of their feathery pantaloons, and
as many pink-eyed fan-tailed pigeons were circling
amorously, one about the other, making the air vocal
with their low plaintive cooing.

When Harry entered the little enclosure, pigeons and
summer ducks, and bantam fowls, all came crowding up
around him for their share of the handful of peas and
corn, with which the pockets of his shooting jacket were
provided.

“This is my poultry yard, what do you think of it,
and my little pets?—Why, Peter, you impudent little
villain,” he added, “are you not ashamed of yourself?”
as a pretty white pigeon, after circling two or
three times about him, fluttered up, and alighted on
his shoulder.

“They are very nice, and very pretty,” said Fred.
“But I must confess that I hate pets.—It is so disagreeable
to have them killed and eaten, after you have
been playing with them, and coaxing them.”

“Killed and eaten!” do you suppose that I am such
a Goth. No, Fred, the greatest cruelty I commit to
these little folks is to devour the eggs of the bantams,
the squabs of the white pigeons before they have
emerged from their boxes, and the young of these
summer ducks, which, as soon as they are able to take
care of themselves, are kept away from the water, and
fed in separate coops, in the other yard, upon celery.
None of these breeding people are ever destined for the
kitchen. In the other court, which is under Mrs.
Deighton's especial superintendence, there are never
less than a dozen woodduck, and as many capons,

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

cooped and waxing fat. But thither I never enter in.
But come, we are losing time; this is the way to the
stables.”

And with the words he opened a second door near
the pigeon house, and passed with his friend into a
larger court yard, neatly paved with cobble stones,
having, like the first, a large tank in the centre continually
fed by the same bright streamlet. This court, unlike
the other, was surrounded on all sides by buildings,
between two of which was an arched gateway, with a
large folding porte cochère, and as in the little poultry
yard through which they had come on their way, everything
was as clean and neat as a lady's drawing-room.
There was not a particle of litter or rubbish to be seen;
no odoriferous goat was there, no fox chained to his
rank kennel, no terrier prowling about, snapping and
troublesome, the only quadruped in sight being a large
tabby cat, blinking with her half closed eyes, and purring
to herself in silent satisfaction, as she lay basking
in the full sunshine on the top of the horse block.

Exactly facing them as they entered was a long
building consisting of an open carriage house, with an
arched colonnade of unbarked cedar posts in front,
with a hay loft above it surmounted by a small clock-house
with a weather cock and vane—at either end,
projecting some twelve feet in advance of the carriage
house, was a wing of twenty feet front, with a door
five feet wide of stout oak studded with nail heads, and
a handsome window. Each of these wings, which
were only of a single story, had an open cupola above
it with moveable venetian blinds, admitting a free circulation
of fresh air.

Toward the right of these wings Archer took his
way, and lifting the heavy latch, entered a passage six
feet wide by twelve in length, neatly paved, with a
large stable lamp swinging from the roof.

To the right of this was the grain room, its window

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protected by a wire grating, and all the walls, floor,
and interior of the binns lined with sheet iron.

“All snug and tight, Fred,” said Harry, as he
pointed it out to him—“no rats or mice here! Pretty
good oats,” he added, taking out a sample. “The
best of North Rivers, but they are light as compared
with ours at home. These are what they call very
heavy here, nine and thirty pounds the bushel.”

“The devil! do you call that heavy!”

“Yes! Faith! exceeding heavy!—We have none
of your fifty pound oats, we don't manure liberally
enough for that, but come—here are the prads.”

He threw open the second door, and the stable was
before them, a square space of twenty feet, with four
stalls occupying the whole length of the wall facing
them—four stalls handsomely filled by the round
powerful quarters and square docks of four as spicy
cobs, as ever did their mile in three minutes—two
blacks and two bright glossy chesnuts.

Their sheets of clean white holland, their woollen
blankets checked with a yellow line, bordered with
blue, and with blue initials, their poitrels of the same,
and their hoods, knowingly folded back over their gay
surcingles, were the perfection of cleanliness and good
taste.

The floor paved with bricks set edgewise was
actually redolent of cleanliness. The beds were laid
down with a neatly plaited border; and over every
stall hung an elaborate wreath of straws destined to
allure any wandering fly—vain destination, for the
deuce a fly was to be seen or heard in that abode of
nattiness.

The horses had been fed and littered down, and the
venetian blinds were therefore closed, but enough of
light penetrated, with the air, through the shutters of the
ventilator in the roof to allow all the details to be seen
even to the smallest.

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As they came in one of the black cobs turned his
head and whinnied; and at the sound the others rattled
their blocks and running halters, and looked with some
token or other of recognition, at their master.

“Ah! you rogues, I must not forget you,” said
Harry, and turning back into the grain room he brought
a few bits of carrot, which lay ready to his hand in a
barrel, and fed them severally, clapping their smooth
and well-groomed necks, with this choicest of equestrian
dainties.

“Where is your hay—Harry? you have no loft
overhead I see!”

“No! indeed.—The hay is over the carriage house.
There is no greater mistake in the world than to put
your hay and grain over a stable, where all the fetor
and ammonia must rise and impregnate the food with
insalubrious stench.—No, indeed, nothing but the
fresh air above, and a constant change of that. Now
then, let us go to the other wing. See, here,” he continued,
as he entered it, “here is my harness and saddle
room, with a furnace and boiler for hot water—and
here,” passing through the vestibule—six feet, by
twelve, like that on the other side, “Here are the boxes
for the thoroughbreds.—This is Frank Forester's `Bright
Selim,' and a beauty he is with his rich chesnut coat
and mouse-colored muzzle, and that is my `Bay
Trojan;' you have not seen him yet. Tell me, Fred,
did you ever see a finer quarter, a more richly shaped
gambril—a more sloping shoulder. What a round
barrel too! and look at his chest! Plenty of room for
the bellows in that chest, hey, Fred?—Good arm,
short cannon bone!—What fault can you find with
him?”

“None, by the Lord! He is a superb colt. How
is he bred?”

“By Priam, out of Betsy Richards by Sir Archy.
There is no better blood in America.”

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

“He ought to run.”

“He would, I have no doubt.—But he has never
been in training. I bought him young at a very big
figure, for his shapes, and as I cannot afford the
luxury of racing, I have eschewed training him.”

“You were wise, I suppose—yet I think I should
have risked being tempted.”

“Not I. I want him for a riding horse, not for a
racer; the two are incompatible.”

“Even so. Where are the dogs? Let us have a
look at them, and then to breakfast.”

“This way then.”

And leaving the stable court by the side door, they
went out into the oak grove, through which they walked
a couple of hundred yards to the skirt of a green
meadow, and there they found the kennel.

It was a neat wooden building of two apartments,
the outer one paved with brick and opening upon a
green court some twenty yards square, with a branch
of the little brook, which was dammed above to supply
the poultry yard and stable, meandering through it.
Within was a second room furnished with wooden
beds supplied sparingly with clean wheaten straw, and a
stove in the centre, protected by a grated fender or
cage reaching nearly to the ceiling.

The dogs—two brace and a half of superb setters,
two black with tan spots above their eyes—two red,
of Lord Clare's famous Irish breed, one liver and white
spotted—and a brace of strong Blenheim spaniels—
were rolling and playing on the grass, or swimming in
the little stream, all looking fresh and vigorous and
healthy.

“I give them a bit of fire at night, poor brutes, in
this autumn weather.—It is hard to send them shivering
to a cold bed after a stiff day's work in the cold water
of our swamps.—Besides, a dog lasts as long again,
when he is well cared for.”

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

“Perfectly right, Harry—I never saw a more complete
establishment for its size. But where are my
pointers?”

“I was afraid they might get to fighting, so I had
them put into a spare lodging which I have for puppies
or bitches. Here it is, by the boiling room.”

“And very well they look, poor lads,” said Fred—
“Good dog Don! good dog Punch!—should not you
like to go out, old fellows?”

“You shall take them out one of these days, Fred;
we will go down and shoot quail in the open fields in
South Jersey—they will tell there. But hark! there
goes the breakfast bell, and as there is a broiled woodduck,
celery fed, fresh reeking from the gridiron, it
behoves us neither to let him grow cold, nor bide the
brunt of Frank Forester's fine morning appetite.

p145-124

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