built his first manorial residence, called Castle Philipse on account of its strength and armament, it not only being loopholed for musketry, as was common in those days, but was also defended by several small cannon. All these evidences of the strenuous days of old have been covered by unsightly clapboards, and the place as it stands now looks as though it might have seen better days, but gives no hint of its former important station. It is related that in 1756 a Virginia colonel named Washington called here to pay his respects to the beautiful Mary Philipse, but the lady saw nothing attractive in the tall, ungainly countryman. In 1784, when the state parcelled out the confiscated lands of Philipse, this part fell into the hands of Gerard C. Beekman, whose wife was Cornelia Van Cortlandt, a connection of the Philipse family. An interesting incident connects this place with the André matter. Some time before his capture, John Webb, one of Washington's aides, left a valise containing a new uniform with Mrs. Beekman, asking that it be delivered only on a written order. Some two weeks later Joshua Het Smith, whose loyalty was at that time regarded doubtful, called and asked for Lieutenant Webb's valise. Mrs. Beekman disliked the man, and refused to deliver it without the order, which Smith could not produce, and he rode away much disappointed. André was concealed in his house at this very time, and the uniform was wanted to help him through the American lines. Thus Mrs. Beekman forged the second link in the chain leading to the André capture.

The little old Dutch church is believed to be the oldest church edifice now standing in the State. It was built in 1699 by Frederick Philipse. Irving says of it: "The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll surrounded by locust trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent whitewashed walls shine modestly forth like Christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement."

"To look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there, at least, the dead might rest in peace," and there Irving himself rests in peace with a plain white stone at his head which modestly tells that

WASHINGTON

SON OF WILLIAM AND SARAH S. IRVING

DIED

NOV. 28, 1859

AGED 76 YEARS, 7 MO. AND 25 DAYS

Old Dutch Church. Tarrytown. 1699.

North of the church and on both sides of the Post Road are the remains of the one-time Beekman forest, whose thickets once served the deer for a cover. So long ago as 1705 it was necessary to enact game laws for the protection of these animals, which were even then in a fair way to being exterminated.

The six miles to Ossining are largely made up of handsome estates lining both sides of the road. Here and there nature still litters the earth with weeds and bushes, or the farmer tends his crops, leaving a fringe of wild things to border his domains, but as a general thing such inelegancies are suppressed, and the roadside is ordered with the same precision as are the lands on the other side of the wall. Those pleasant little friendships with unkempt nature are not so frequent as we find them further on. However, while there is little "delight in disorder" there are many beautiful places belonging to those favored with an abundance of this world's goods. Such names as Gen. John C. Fremont, Anson G. Phelps, Gen. James Watson Webb, Aspinwall and others are or have been of this region. Some two miles before we come to the village of Ossining stands St. Mary's Church, erected in 1850. Surrounded by tall trees, the little edifice looks as though it might be some mysterious "church in the wood" of a medieval romance, and one almost expects to see a little bridal party dash up on horseback with no time to lose, in the belief that the grim old father is close on their heels. We naturally think of a church as a centre of population, but here is a quaint little building which the traveler comes on unexpectedly in a patch of woods by a rather lonely stretch of road. The temptation to turn aside and investigate is strong until, the wind rubbing one tree trunk against another, a long groan is heard that sends a cold shiver down the inquisitive's back and damps his ardor for discovery. After all it's best out in the bright open road where the birds sing and the sun dispels all thought of gloom.

Ossining, "a stony place," was variously written Sin-sing, Sing Sing, Sin Sinck and Sink Sink. Spelling was an incident in those days, not an art. Here again we must fall back on Irving for our facts. He says: "A corruption of the old Indian name O-sin-sing. Some have rendered it O-sin-sing, or O-sing-song, in token of its being a great market town, where anything may be had for a mere song. Its present melodious alteration to Sing Sing is said to have been made in compliment to a Yankee singing master who taught the inhabitants the art of singing through the nose." The Indian village here bore the same name before the Dutch appropriated the country.

No very important events of Colonial or Revolutionary history are recorded in immediate connection with the town, though it is related that here is still preserved a small cannon known as "Old White," said to be the one which, at Teller's Point, compelled the British Vulture to slip her moorings and so leave André in the lurch. At one time mining operations were conducted at this point, but they came to naught, and now the town is noted as a resort for guests of the state.

As we approach the Croton River the road takes a right-angled turn, down which a fingerboard points, indicating that Peekskill lies that way, but the old Post Road kept straight ahead, following the banks of the Croton until a favorable place for crossing occurred, when it took advantage of the opportunity and started back for the Hudson, in order to get around Hessian Hill. The marshy breadth of the Croton's mouth was probably too much for the bridge builders of early days. Along this road a short half mile is the one-time celebrated Black Horse Tavern. It was not only a house of refuge for travel-worn humanity, but was also a popular meeting place for the neighboring farmers, and a place of political gatherings.

We stick to the more modern road which crosses the Croton by means of two bridges landing one at the door yard of the old Van Cortlandt manor house. The view up the river from the bridge is a beautifully soft landscape. On the left stands the old "ferry house," so important a means of communication between the two sides of the stream that Washington, during the Revolution, stationed a guard here for its protection. The manor house, a modest two-story building, hidden in vines, built of the rough brown sandstone of the region, gives no indication of decrepit age. It so happened that just before my visit its stucco covering had been removed, disclosing to view the portholes for musketry intended to discourage the too enthusiastic approaches of its Indian neighbors. This stucco was spread over the building when the grandfather of the present generation of Van Cortlandts brought his bride home.

The father of the first "Lord of the Manor" was a landholder in the City of New