Washington
Irving, nestled in the grove of living green, its white stuccoed walls
glistening in the bright sunlight, and its background of grand villas
looming up on every side. At Irvington Landing, a little further down
the river, I went ashore to pass Sunday with friends; and on the Monday
following, in a dense fog, proceeded on my route to New York.

Below Irvington the far-famed "Palisades," bold-faced precipices of
trap-rock, offer their grandest appearance on the west side of the
Hudson. These singular bluffs, near Hoboken, present a perpendicular
front of three hundred or four hundred feet in height. Piles of broken
rock rest against their base: the contribution of the cliffs above from
the effects of frost and sun.

While approaching the great city of New York, strong squalls of wind,
blowing against the ebb-tide, sent swashy waves into my open canoe, the
sides of which, amidships, were only five or six inches above water; but
the great buoyancy of the light craft and its very smooth exterior
created but little friction in the water and made her very seaworthy,
when carefully watched and handled, even without a deck of canvas or
wood. While the canoe forged ahead through the troubled waters, and the
breezes loaded with the saltness of the sea now near at hand struck my
back, I confess that a longing to reach Philadelphia, where I could
complete my outfit and increase the safety of my little craft, gave
renewed vigor to my stroke as I exchanged the quiet atmosphere of the
country for the smoke and noise of the city. Every instinct was now
challenged, and every muscle brought into action, as I dodged tug-boats,
steamers, yachts, and vessels, while running the thoroughfare along the
crowded wharves between New York on one side and Jersey City on the
other. I found the slips between the piers most excellent ports of
refuge at times, when the ferry-boats, following each other in quick
succession, made the river with its angry tide boil like a vortex. The
task soon ended, and I left the Hudson at Castle Garden and entered the
upper bay of New York harbor. As it was dark, I would gladly have gone
ashore for the night, but a great city offers no inducement for a
canoeist to land as a stranger at its wharves.

A much more pleasant reception awaited me down on Staten Island, a
gentleman having notified me by mail that he would welcome the canoe and
its owner. The ebb had ceased, and the incoming tide was being already