Landor's Cottage
A PENDANT TO 'THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM'
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
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