| | 1 | Author: | Herbert
Henry William
1807-1858 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | My shooting box  | | | | Published: | 2006 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Modern English collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | It wanted scarce an hour of sunset, on a calm,
bright October evening—that season of unrivalled glory
in the wide woodlands of America, wherein the dying
year appears to deck herself, as it is told of the expiring
dolphin, with such a gorgeousness of short-lived
hues as she had never shown in her full flush of summer
life and beauty—it wanted, as I have said, scarce
an hour of sunset, and all the near and mountainous
horizon was veiled as it were by a fine gauze-like
drapery of filmy yellow mist, while every where the
level sunbeams were checkering the scenery with lines
of long rich light and cool blue shadow, when a small
four-wheeled wagon with something sportsmanlike and
rakish in its build, might have been seen whirling at a
rapid rate over one of the picturesque uneven roads,
that run from the banks of the Hudson, skirting the
lovely range of the Western Highlands, through one—
the fairest—of the river counties of New York. This
little vehicle, which was drawn by an exceedingly
clever, though somewhat cross-made, chesnut cob, with
a blaze on his face, and three white legs, contained two
persons, with a quantity of luggage, among which a
couple of gun-cases were the most conspicuous, and a
brace of beautiful and high-bred English pointers. The
driver was a smart natty lad, dressed in a dark gray
frock, with livery buttons, and a narrow silver cord for
a hat-band; and, while he handled the ribbons with
the quick finger and cool head of an experienced whip,
he showed his complete acquaintance with the way, by
the readiness and almost instinctive decision with which
he selected the right hand or the left of several acute
and intricate turns and crossings of the road. The
other was a young gentleman of some five or six and
twenty years, finely and powerfully made, though not
above the middle height, with curly light-brown hair
and a fair bright complexion, indicative of his English
blood. Rattling along the limestone road, which followed
the course of a large rapid trout stream, that
would in Europe have been termed a river, crossing it
now and then on rustic wooden bridges, as it wound
in broad devious curves hither and thither through the
rich meadow-land, they reached a pretty village, embosomed
in tall groves and pleasant orchards, crowning
a little knoll with its white cottages and rival steeples;
but, making no pause, though a neat tavern might well
have tempted the most fastidious traveller, they swept
onward, keeping the stream on their right hand, until,
as they came to the foot of a small steep ascent, the
driver touched his hat, saying—“We have got through
our journey now, sir; the house lies just beyond the
hill.” He scarce had finished speaking, before they
topped the hillock, and turning short to the right hand
pulled up before a neat white gate in a tall fence, that
separated the road from a large piece of woodland,
arrayed in all the gorgeous colors wrought by the first
sharp frost of autumn. The well-kept winding lane,
to which the gate gave access, brought them, within a
quarter of a mile, to a steep rocky bank feathered with
junipers, and here and there a hickory or maple
shadowing the dense undergrowth of rhododendrons,
kalmias and azalias that sprung in rich luxuriance from
every rift and cranny of the gray limestone ledges.
Down this the road dived, by two rapid zig-zags, to
the margin of the little river, which foamed along its
base, where it was spanned by a single arch, framed
picturesquely of gnarled unbarked timber; and then
swept in an easy curve up a small lawn, lying fair to
the southern sun, to the door of a pretty cottage, which
lay midway the northern slope of the valley, its rear
sheltered by the hanging woodlands, which clothed the
hills behind it to their very summit. A brilliant light
was shining from the windows to the right of the door,
as if of a merry fire and several candles mingled; and,
in a minute or two after the wheels of the wagon rattled
upon the wooden bridge, it was evident that the
door was thrown open; for a long stream of mellow
light burst out on the fast darkening twilight, and the
next moment a tall figure, clearly defined against the
bright background, was seen upon the threshold. A
minute more and the chesnut cob was pulled up in
front of the neat portico, and the young Englishman
leaped out and darted up the steps. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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