, some near, some in the distance--the rapid succession of
handsome villages and cities, (our boat is a swift traveler, and
makes few stops)--the Race--picturesque West Point, and indeed all
along--the costly and often turreted mansions forever showing in some
cheery light color, through the woods--make up the scene.
HAPPINESS AND RASPBERRIES
_June 21_.--Here I am, on the west bank of the Hudson, 80 miles
north of New York, near Esopus, at the handsome, roomy,
honeysuckle-and-rose-enbower'd cottage of John Burroughs. The place,
the perfect June days and nights, (leaning toward crisp and cool,)
the hospitality of J. and Mrs. B., the air, the fruit, (especially my
favorite dish, currants and raspberries, mixed, sugar'd, fresh and
ripe from the bushes--I pick 'em myself)--the room I occupy at night,
the perfect bed, the window giving an ample view of the Hudson and the
opposite shores, so wonderful toward sunset, and the rolling music
of the RR. trains, far over there--the peaceful rest--the early
Venus-heralded dawn--the noiseless splash of sunrise, the light and
warmth indescribably glorious, in which, (soon as the sun is well up,)
I have a capital rubbing and rasping with the flesh-brush--with
an extra scour on the back by Al. J., who is here with us--all
inspiriting my invalid frame with new life, for the day. Then, after
some whiffs of morning air, the delicious coffee of Mrs. B., with the
cream, strawberries, and many substantials, for breakfast.
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