| | 1 | Author: | Poe, Edgar Allan, 1809-1849 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Landor's Cottage  | | | | Published: | 1994 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | During a pedestrian tour last summer, through one or two of
the river counties of New York, I found myself, as the day
declined, somewhat embarrassed about the road I was pursuing.
The land undulated very remarkably; and my path, for the last
hour, had wound about and about so confusedly, in its effort to
keep in the valleys, that I no longer knew in what direction lay
the sweet village of B—, where I had determined to stop for
the night. The sun had scarcely shone — strictly speaking — during
the day, which, nevertheless, had been unpleasantly warm. A
smoky mist, resembling that of the Indian summer, enveloped all
things, and, of course, added to my uncertainty. Not that I
cared much about the matter. If I did not hit upon the village
before sunset, or even before dark, it was more than possible
that a little Dutch farmhouse, or something of that kind, would
soon make its appearance — although, in fact, the neighbourhood
(perhaps on account of being more picturesque than fertile) was
very sparsely inhabited. At all events, with my knapsack for a
pillow, and my hound as a sentry, a bivouac in the open air was
just the thing which would have amused me. I sauntered
on, therefore, quite at ease — Ponto taking charge of my gun — until at
length, just as I had begun to consider whether the numerous
little glades that led hither and thither were intended to be
paths at all, I was conducted by one of the most promising of
them into an unquestionable carriage-track. There could be no
mistaking it. The traces of light wheels were evident; and
although the tall shrubberies and overgrown undergrowth met
overhead, there was no obstruction whatever below, even to the
passage of a Virginian mountain wagon — the most aspiring vehicle,
I take it, of its kind. The road, however, except in being open
through the wood — if wood be not too weighty a name for such an
assemblage of light trees — and except in the particulars of
evident wheel-tracks — bore no resemblance to any road I had
before seen. The tracks of which I speak were but faintly
perceptible, having been impressed upon the firm, yet pleasantly
moist surface of — what looked more like green Genoese velvet than
anything else. It
was grass, clearly — but grass such as we
seldom see out of England — so short, so thick, so even, and so
vivid in colour. Not a single impediment lay in the wheel-route —
not even a chip or dead twig. The stones that once obstructed
the way had been carefully placed — not thrown — along the sides of
the lane, so as to define its boundaries at bottom with a kind of
half-precise, half-negligent, and wholly picturesque definition.
Clumps of wild flowers grew everywhere, luxuriantly, in the
interspaces. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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