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.

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

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

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.

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

pendence, and still other defences, which we shall notice hereafter. Though the works at these posts were but slight, the position seemed to be one of great strength, and so it was generally considered until a sad experience proved it to be otherwise.

Let us now, as well as the limited scope of our subject will properly allow, look back into the eventful past, and see what claims the old chronicle makes upon our attention and interest.

The revolutionary history of Fort Washington and vicinity lies under the darkest shadows of the dark days of '76. It is, throughout its brief past, a record of events the most disastrous and disheartening to the patriot forces; a story of defeat and retreat which might well have left even the stout hearts of that period without hope.

The enemy held Long Island, and thence from all points watched the opposite City of Refuge to which Washington and his brave men had just been driven. The main body of the British fleet was at the same time within cannon-shot of Governor's Island. It was very evident that New-York, also, must in turn be abandoned to the victorious foe.

SOUTH FROM THOMPSON'S PIER, FORT TRYON.

"Our situation,' writes Washington at the time, 'is truly distressing.' And in another letter he says: 'It is evident the enemy mean to inclose us on the island of New-York, by taking post in our rear, while the shipping secures the front; and thus, by cutting off our communication with the country, oblige us to fight them on their own terms or surrender at discretion, or by a brilliant stroke endeavor to cut this army in pieces and secure the collection of arms and stores which they well know we shall not be able soon to replace.'

Colonel Reed writes: "My country will, I trust, yet be free, whatever may be our fate who are cooped up, or are in danger of being so, on this tongue of land.' And again: We are still here, in a posture somewhat awkward; we think - at least I do- that we cannot stay, and yet we do not know how to go; so that we may properly be said to be between hawk and buzzard.' Another officer, in addressing an absent New-Yorker, says: 'I fear we shall evacuate your poor city. The very thought gives me the horrors."

A British officer writes: By the steps our General is taking, I imagine he will effectually cut off their (the Americans') retreat at King's Bridge, by which the island of New-York is joined to the continent. Another of the enemy flattered himself and his correspondent that this distressful business would soon be brought to a happy issue.'

Thus the reader will see that the prospects of the patriot troops were, at the time our history opens, dreary enough; and the night in which they were wrapped darkened and darkened before the dawn at last blessed their aching eyes. Circumstances soon answered for them the grave question respecting the abandonment of the city, the potential circumstances of necessity, in the rapid offensive movements of the enemy, assuring a speedy and in all probability a successful attack.