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and rather hot in summer-time, to walk on rail-way tracks: so we turn aside and directly opposite the station ascend the steep, forestcovered hill-side. So primitive do the woods and rocks look, so much like the country hundreds of miles away, that we quite forget we are still in the city, until our eye falls in surprise upon the procession of spruce-looking gas-lamps which every where precede us, climbing and descending before us as we go-up hill and down dale, over rocks and through the forest-leading the van at all points, as if in token of the issue of the inexorable struggle forever going on here between the contending powers of country and of town. At even-tide, when the rush of travel has subsided and the notes of katydid and whippoorwill are heard, these prophetic lines of glittering lamps remind us oddly enough that we are not, after all, rambling in lonely country roads, but are promenading on this or that street or avenue, or perchance on Broadway itself. But slip aside from the highways, and nothing happily remains to remind us of the noisy town but the glimpses here and there of its distant roofs and spires and towers.

The road up which we follow the lamps as we turn aside at the station, is that into which all the paths from the villas around debouch when seeking the rail-way; it bears some high number in the municipal record, and leads from the river to the road on the east of the neighborhood of which we are writing. This highway is known to the city carriages and the 2: 40' nags as the King's Bridge, or Bloomingdale Road. It is, in point of fact, despite its rural ten

dency, none other than Broadway itself. In coming so far north it has skirted, for two pleasant miles, the river-side of the new Central Park; continued a mile or two beyond, it would touch the Spyt den Duivel creek and the northern extremity of Manhattan. Instead of seeking this highway as we leave the river shore, we will, without doubting our welcome, turn aside into one or other of the park gates, which open so numerously before us. In rambling thus, now over gravelled walks and now through the primitive forest, we come continually upon the verge of fragrant gardens and within sight of halfhidden cottage or castle homes. Rising the hill to its very crest, we find ourselves upon the summit of Mount Washington, the very highest point of the neighborhood and of all the Island. Here once stood the military works famous in history as Fort Washington, the exact position being still clearly indicated by the remains which in embankments and otherwise are still well preserved. Not long ago the workmen employed in the cultivation of the grounds, discovered, a few inches beneath the surface, numerous cannon-balls and chain-shot, which had been cast there, no doubt, long years ago, from the British vessels which attacked the fortifications from the river. These cannonballs were twelve-pounders, and, excepting the rust with which they were covered, were as perfect as if but just made. Ten years ago there were also turned up here some old, well-worn bayonets, and a coin of the reign of George the Third; even human bones have been disinterred from their long burial in the process of improving and cultivating the spot. The whole area is now a garden, and under the transforming wand of taste and wealth, is every day growing in grace and beauty.

The panorama is exceedingly fine in all directions and from every point of these highlands, which rise between five and six hundred feet above the river; but no where else is the view so extensive and impos.

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ing as from Mr. Bennett's grounds, and especially from the lofty cupola of his mansion. From this supreme elevation the windings of the river northward, with its interminable line of rocky cliffs on one side and of valleys and villa-covered hill-slopes on the other, are visible for many long miles. On the east is seen all the suburban part of the island, its many localities of poetic and historic reminiscence the whole course of the Harlem River and the Spyt den Duivel Creek below; and on the east there is the Sound and Long-Island beyond; while to the southward, every roof and dome and spire of the great metropolis and of the neighboring cities, come into the picture, which is con tinued into the far distance by the panorama of the Bay, of Staten Island, and finally, of the wide ocean. It is scarcely possible to imagine a scene more beautiful and more varied, and, despite the value of the exchange, we cannot but look forward, regretfully, to the coming hour when its charms will all be buried behind the encroaching city walls.

Not far to the northward from Mr. Bennett's, and nearly at the

same elevation, just between the site of the old fortifications there and the closely neighboring locality of old Fort Tryon, there stands a stately castellated cottage, built of rough brown stone in a manner and style admirably suited to the character of the region. We have preserved a picture of this elegant seat among those of our present chapter as an excellent example of the beautiful villa architecture of this portion of the river shores.

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Still close by, as we proceed, is another cottage, which comes also into our little gallery- not so much on account of its architectural pretensions, which are not great-as in intimation of the topography of the country homes hereabouts, and of their charming relation to the river-pictures up and down. This last-mentioned villa is the residence of Mr. Chittenden. It stands directly upon the verge of the hill, overlooking the landscape far and near in all directions. Almost within reach of the shadow of its walls is the bold point once occupied by the redoubts and batteries of Fort Tryon; and just beyond, looking down into the waters of the Harlem River is the lofty site of Fort George.

The reader will find in our port-folio glimpses both up and down the river from old Fort Tryon. In the latter, all the villas of which we have spoken are to be seen, their walls and cupolas rising high against the sky. In the upward vista, we should, but for the intervening trees and rocky bluffs see the Fort Tryon station, (formerly known as Tubby Hook,) the next point above Fort Washington, on the east side of the river, and the terminus of the voyage which we have proposed to our self in the present chapter of our history.

In the middle ground of our upper Fort Tryon sketch there is seen a part of the cottage of Mr. Hays, nestled in the shade of the lower portion of the Fort Tryon district. It is as pleasant an example of the valley nooks of the neighborhood as are the homes already mentioned. of the more elevated and commanding sites, replete as it is with the gentler, if less imposing beauties of lawn and garden and grove and thicket, with peeps through all at

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the beautiful river and its everpassing life. It was here that happened a little incident, to which sad circumstances have given a touching interest in the hearts of all who witnessed it. It was on a pleasant summer eve, as the sun was sinking behind the opposite heights of the Palisades, and as the great river-boats were passing up on their evening voyage, that the gifted young preacher Abner Kingman Nott stood gazing with

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REMAINS OF THE REDOUBT AT JEFFERY'S HOOK.

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coming lifeonly a very short time before his melancholy end called him so instantaneously from all his promised pleasures. He looked forth earnestly upon

the striking scenes around him, grasping a tree upon the bank as he leaned forward in his intense enjoyment. That noble craft the 'NewWorld' chanced to pass, in all its pride, at the moment, heightening the glory of the landscape by its beauty, and by the prestige of its power, read even in its very name. Little did the young preacher dream at that hour of high anticipation, how much higher was the destiny even then awaiting him-of the 'New-World' beyond, to which his sight was then opening. How often is it that the saddest associations cling to the loveliest and fairest of scenes.

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From another lofty site up the river- the yet unoccupied domains of Mr. Flint- we look down upon the rail-way station at Fort Tryon a new and more euphonious name for the wonderful little valley and hill-side nook just above Fort Washington, heretofore called Tubby Hook, from a certain Tibers, who used to ferry people across to the Palisades.

Of this point we shall speak further in our next chapter, and so, too, of the Palisades, which, in their great extent, belong as much, at least, to other parts of the river as to that which we are to-day visiting.

Before we turn back to the historical associations of the neighborhood of Fort Washington, let us add a word in regard to the military character and appearance of the place at that period. The fort was a strong earth-work-in form a pentagon occupying, with its ravelins, that part of the lofty hill-regions of Manhattan Island now embraced between One hundred and eighty-first and One hundred and eighty-sixth streets. Just to the northward, on the same rocky heights, was the redoubt called Fort Tryon, and to the eastward was Fort George, looking down upon the Harlem River; and immediately below was another redoubt- a sketch of the remains of which we have here preserved on the crest of the promontory of Jeffrey's Hook. Beyond, near the Spyt den Duivel Creek, was Cockhill, Fort Inde

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