CHAPTER IV.
_A Day on the North River_.
Early one fine morning in October, a four-seated fly might have been seen at the door of Putnam's hotel, on the roof of which was being piled a Babel of luggage, the inside being already full.

Into another vehicle, our party--i.e., three of us--entered, and ere long both the carriages were on the banks of the river, where the steamer was puffing away, impatient for a start.

The hawsers were soon cast off, and we launched forth on the bosom of the glorious Hudson, whose unruffled surface blazed like liquid fire beneath the rays of the rising sun.

I purposely abstain from saying anything of the vessel, as she was an old one, and a very bad specimen.

The newer and better class of vessel, I shall have to describe hereafter.
On leaving New York, the northern banks of the river are dotted in every direction with neat little villas, the great want being turf, to which the American climate is an inveterate foe.