ere was no
railroad, and you travelled mostly by stage-coaches. It had cost almost
a quarter then, with the ferriage and toll-gates, if you walked to
Newark. And now you could go through to Washington on the train.

She thought it quite a fearful thing to go through the Harlem tunnel;
but here there was a road cut through great, high, frowning rocks that
made you feel as if you were in a dungeon. Then a long, level stretch of
salt meadows with ditches cut across them, that suggested a vague idea
of Holland. We did not know the world quite so well then.

Newark, in those days, was a sort of country town with country roads in
all directions. At intervals, a stage went up Broad Street, which was
handsome and wide and lined with stately trees. They thought it best to
wait awhile for this, lest Hanny should get too tired.

"But you can't half see," declared Delia.

"When we come to the curiosities, we will get out," said Mr. Whitney.
"We can't afford to miss them."

They passed a pretty park full of magnificent elms, with an old grey
stone church standing in it, one of the oldest churches in the State.
There were a number of stores, interspersed with private dwellings, and
everything wore a sort of leisurely aspect. A little farther up was
another park,--commons, they were called then. The modest old houses and
large gardens and fields gave it a still more complete country aspect.

The stage stopped at a tavern where some people were waiting. The sign
was "The Black Horse Tavern."

"We will get out and begin our adventures," said Mr. Whitney, smilingly.
"This little sort of creek was called First River. I dare say in past
days it came rushing over the hill in quite a wild way."

"Is there a Second River?" asked Delia, mirthfully.

"Indeed there is, at Belleville. There used to be an old mill
hereabouts, and this was the mill brook. Once or twice, in a freshet,
the stream has risen so that it swept the bridge away."

"It's meek enough now," said Ben. "Black Horse Tavern! That ought to be
in a book."

It was a small one-story building, looking very old even then. Over
opposite, a pretty house stood on a slight elevation, that dated back to
1820, with its sloping lawn and green fields, its churn and bright
milkpans standing out in the sunshine.

"We shall have to go round, as the frogs advise," said Mr. Whitney,
looking about him with an air of consideration. "We might get through
some of these driveways; but ther