9th year of his age."_

CHAPTER IV

_The Story of Richmond Hill_

If my days of fancy and romance were not past, I could find
here an ample field for indulgence!--ABIGAIL ADAMS,
writing from Richmond Hill House, in 1783.

I had left dear St. John's,--for this time my pilgrim feet were turned
a bit northward to a shrine of romance rather than religion. I
meandered along Canal, and traversed Congress Street. Congress, by the
bye, is about two yards long; do you happen to know it?

In a few moments, I was standing in a sort of trance at that
particular point of Manhattan marked by the junction of Charlton and
Varick streets and the end of Macdougal, about two hundred feet north
of Spring. And there was nothing at all about the scenic setting, you
would surely have said, to send anyone into any kind of a trance.

On one side of me was an open fruit stall; on another, a butcher's
shop; the Cafe Gorizia (with windows flagrant with pink
confectionery), and the two regulation and indispensable saloons to
make up the four corners.

In a sentimentally reminiscent mood, I took out a notebook, to write
down something of my impressions and fancies. But there was a general
murmur of war-inflamed suspicion, and I desisted and fled. How was I
to tell them that there, where I stood, in that very citified and very
nearly squalid environment (it was raining that day too), I could yet
see, quite distinctly, the shadowy outlines of the one-time glorious
House of Richmond Hill?

They were high gates and ornate, one understands. I visualised them
over and against the dull and dingy modern buildings. Somewhere near
here where I was standing, the great drive-way had curved in between
the tall, fretted iron posts, to that lovely wooded mound which was
the last and most southern of the big Zantberg Range, and seemingly of
a rare and rich soil. The Zantberg, you remember, started rather far
out in the country,--somewhere about Clinton Place and Broadway,--and
ran south and west as far as Varick and Van Dam streets.

I had passed on Downing Street one house at least which looked as
though it had been there forever and ever, but just here it was most
commonplace and present-century in setting, and the roar of traffic
was in my ears. But I am sure that I saw Richmond Hill House
plainly,--that distinguished structure which was described by an
eyewitness as "a wooden building of massive architecture, with a lofty
port