Madame finally decided to go up the North River. We left New York in the morning,
were all day getting to Newburgh, and after a dull passage, although much delighted
by the scenery up the river, I was glad to reach Mr. De Wint’s.
It is needless to go over a regular history of the five following days. Mr. De W.’s
is a country residence prettily situated at Fishkill but subject like all other country
residences to much dullness.1
Madame was very unwell during her whole stay and I was in constant terror. Rides,
Writing letters home and a visit to West Point constituted all our entertainment.
This last happened on Saturday, we dined there, saw Robert Buchanan and the spot which
is admirably adapted for the purpose to which it is put. I dined at Mr. Christie’s,
a country neighbor of Mr. De W.’s. To say that it was stupid would not express my
idea of it at all. I am spoiled by our luxury here at home.