Nathaniel Hawthorne

Our Old Home Nathaniel Hawthorne

On a fine morning in September we set out on an excursion to Blenheim, -the sculptor andmyself being seated on the box of our four-horse carriage, two more of the party in the dicky, and the others less agreeably accommodated inside. We had no coachman, but two postilionsin short scarlet jackets and leather breeches with top-boots, each astride of a horse; so that, allthe way along, when not otherwise attracted, we had the interesting spectacle of their up-anddown bobbing in the saddle. It was a sunny and beautiful day, a specimen of the perfectEnglish weather, just warm enough for comfort, -indeed, a little too warm, perhaps, in thenoontide sun, -yet retaining a mere spice or suspicion of austerity, which made it all the moreenjoya