pages. To hunters the forest offered thrilling occupation. For the
pleasure rider smooth, white, sandy bridle-paths led in silvery curves
through forests of oak or pine to the most delightful of Nowheres.

[Illustration: WOODLANDS, THE HOME OF WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS
By courtesy of D. Appleton & Company]

Having put each guest into the line of his fancy, the master of
Woodlands would betake himself to his library to write his thirty
pages, the daily stint he demanded from the loom of his imagination.
Sometimes he had a companion in Paul Hayne who, not so much given to
outdoor life as many of the frequenters of Woodlands, liked to sit in
the library, weaving some poetic vision of his own or watching the
flight of the tireless pen across the page.

By and by the pen would drop upon the desk, its task finished for that
morning, and the worker would look up with an air of surprise at
becoming aware of his companion and say: "Near dinner time, old boy.
What do you say to a sherry and soda?" As there was only one thing to
be said to a sherry and soda, this was the signal for repairing to the
dining room. By the time the sherry and soda sparkled hospitable
welcome the sportsmen returned and after doing justice to the genius
of the host in mixed drinks, they were seated around a generous table,
most of the good things with which it was laden having come from the
waters and fields and vines of Woodlands. For if a world-wide war had
closed all the harbors of earth Woodlands could still have offered
luxurious banquets to its guests. The host beguiled the time with
anecdotes, of which he had an unfailing store that never lost a point
in his telling, or declaimed poetry, of which his retentive memory
held an inexhaustible collection.