'Twas a
fine, white house, distinguished by the noble columns of its Grecian
front; from its height it overlooked the Hudson, the Harlem, the East
River, the Sound, and miles upon miles of undulating land on every
side.[4]
On this night the lights showed welcome from its many windows, open
doors, and balconies, and from the coloured paper lanterns festooned
upon its facade and strung aloft over its splendid lawn and gardens.
The house still stands, I hear, and is known as the Jumel Mansion,
from the widow who lives there. But I'll warrant it presents no more
such scenes as it offered that night, when the wealth and beauty of
New York, the chivalry of the king's army, arrived at its broad
pillared entrance by horse and by coach in a constant procession. In
the great hall, and the adjacent rooms, the rays of countless candles
fell upon brilliant uniforms, upon silk and velvet and brocade and
broadcloth, upon powdered hair, and fans and furbelows, upon white
necks and bosoms, and dazzling eyes, upon jewels and golden buckles
and shining sword-hilts.
We that entered from the Faringfield coach were Mrs. Faringfield and
my mother, Margaret and Fanny, Tom and myself. We had just received
the greeting of our handsome hostess, and were passing up the hall,
when my eyes alighted upon the figure of an officer who stood alone,
in an attitude of pensive negligence, beside the mantelpiece.
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