The grounds about this grand old place are full of fruit trees, and when the writer first visited them, one warm day in spring, they were all in blossom. They looked like so many great snowballs, and smelled like vast bunches of violets. By the side of the house some of Mme. Jumel’s descendants were amusing themselves with archery. Where the apple blossoms and the new green leaves did not hide everything from sight, there were delightful views. New York City lies at the foot of this hill; the Harlem River flows beside it; not far away is the Sound, and Brooklyn can be seen, and some of the Long Island towns. But however grand the view may be, it is not the view that is the chief attraction of the place. It is easy to imagine on these bright spring days a warm spring afternoon, and the crowded people in the city jostling each other in their efforts to reach fresh air and sunshine and quiet. Out of this hubbub, out from the shadows of high brick walls, out of the crush and bustle and busy racket of the City, to walk suddenly into this yard of some acres’ extent, with apple blossoms and blue sky overhead, with soft green grass under foot, with not a sound to be heard except the laughter of the archers on the lawn; with nobody to crowd you, nobody to disturb you, the delightful spring perfume to soothe you, is about as near fairyland as anything to be found on Manhattan Island. With all this luxury outside it takes a pretty good interior not to be disappointing. But there is nothing disappointing there. The house is one of those broad, two-story buildings that used to be fashionable, but now take up too much room to be profitable. It is built of wood, and painted white. Nobody who has ever visited the upper part of the City, on the West Side, can fail to have seen it. It stands on the top of a high hill and can be seen for miles. Go up the West Side elevated railroad to the last station, and, when you leave the platform, look to the north-west, and it is the highest, largest, most prominent house you see. It has a slanting roof, with dormer windows, and a flat space on top, around which is a substantial railing. From this place on top of the house there is hardly any prominent object on Manhattan Island that cannot be seen. At the front is a large portico, about half the width of the house. The roof of this portico covers both the first and second stories, and is supported by four tall pillars. The casing of the front door is handsomely carved and embellished, and immediately over it, at the second story, is another door, instead of a window, that opens upon a balcony. In the rear is an octagonal wing, the lower story of which is the drawing-room. The whole place is as quiet as if it stood on the summit of the Adirondack’s, though it is only five minutes walk from an elevated railroad station.