“Major,” I said, “there, in that field, is a gobbler; that turkey you and I have got to catch, if it takes us all night to get him. Positively I shall not leave the place without him.” He looked aghast. There he was, in Poole’s clothes, the best dressed man in America! This he always was. On this point, a friend once got this off on him. As he was entering his club, with another well-dressed man of leisure, this gentleman exclaimed, “Behold them! like the lilies of the field, they toil not, neither do they spin, yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” Clothes, or no clothes, in pursuit of the turkey we went. Over fences, under fences, in barnyards and through fields, at a full run, the perspiration pouring down the cheeks of the dear old Major, and I screaming encouragement to him. “Try it again, Major! head him off! now you have him!” Finally, after an hour’s chase, we got the bird, when, throwing off his coat, straightening himself up and throwing his arms akimbo, he exclaimed, “Well, Mc, the profession of a gentleman has fallen very low when it takes him to chasing turkeys.” “My dear fellow,” I replied, “the great Chancellor Livingston once said, ‘a gentleman can do anything; he can clean his own boots, but he should do it well.’” To return to our excursion. The party to go up the North River to the Manor Livingston, and ride back to New York, was at once formed. My first discussion with the Major was as to the propriety of taking a valet, he insisting it was indispensable, that every college boy in England, on three hundred pounds a year, had his valet. I contended that they were nuisances, and it was not the habit to indulge in them here. Besides this, our host would have his hands full in caring for us, and would feel we were imposing on him if each of us took a man servant. This settled it. The Major and I were to travel together and meet the party at Staatsburg. Let me here say that people of the world put up with the annoyance of travel better than any other class of people. The glorious morning that we left the cars at Poughkeepsie, and mounted our horses, I shall never forget. That lovely ride, from Poughkeepsie to Staatsburg, under that superb row of old trees, put me in mind of the Long Walk at Windsor; it is equally as handsome. We speculated on the way as to what we were to expect. “If he has no _chef_, I leave in twenty-four hours,” exclaimed my friend. I assured him we might feel secure of finding artistic cooking and of having a very jolly good time. Instead of a palace, I found a fine, old-fashioned country-house, very draughty, but beautifully placed amid magnificent forest trees. My first exploit was to set fire to the carpet in my room by building a huge fire in my grate, to try and keep warm. As the Major put it, “My dear boy, burn yourself up if you will, but kindly remember you endanger all our lives.”