in America with an adjacent public promenade, which is on the bank of the river, and is very pleasant.

The villages are not picturesque. Instead of white-washed cottages with patches of garden ground, and honeysuckles and roses twined around the little porch, we see plain wooden houses, where nothing beyond bare convenience has been attended to. Some, perhaps most, are tolerably neat, but others are as miserable looking as those on the Yorkshire moors. When placed in the midst of fine scenery, they are however interesting. There is one on the Brandywine about six miles from Wilmington in Delaware, the name of which has escaped my recollection, which may be mentioned as an instance. Ellicot's mills near Baltimore is another. In the western parts of Maryland and the midland of Virginia, are one or two others, which would if in England be visited by our fashionable tourists, and dilated on with enthusiasm.

The complaint made against the American cities, that they have few interesting associations, is incident to every newly erected place. Yet perhaps even this complaint is scarcely well founded. Is there not something interesting for

instance in Philadelphia, in considering that within its bounds the declaration of independence was signed? That Penn there formed his celebrated treaty with the Indians? that Franklin there passed his youth and declining years? not to mention some other particulars. Is it not animating to an American when at Boston to think of Bunker's Hill? or at New York to reflect on the advantages of steam navigation first brought into successful operation there? And after all, who can wish a more cheering association, than that springing from the fact, that only about a century and a half ago, all was wilderness and savage life, where flourishing cities now stand, and civilization with all its kindness and heart-felt sympathies prevails? Nay, even fifty years ago, Baltimore, now containing sixty thousand inhabitants, and so many specimens of architectural beauty, was only an insignificant village. What a proud triumph obtained by civilized, industrious man! These associations, if not so poetical as those connected with some of the events of antiquity, are at least as cheering. The rising sun has not the glorious radiance of the setting sun; but who does not rejoice at seeing darkness give place to light?

CHAPTER III.

MODES AND CONVENIENCES OF TRAVELLING.

On the principal rivers there are very fine steampackets, agreeing with ours in every respect, except in there being no difference in the charge between the fore and aft cabin, and of course no separation between the genteel part of society, and the less polished. Republican notions of equality may contribute to this want of separation, but a more probable reason for it is, that it has been adopted in consequence of the stagecoaches having no seats for outside passengers, thus accustoming all classes to travel together without regard to station in life. Whatever may be the cause, considerable benefits result from it. The wealthy merchant, the learned lawyer, and the independent gentlemen, are likely to feel sympathy and respect for their less fortunate neighbours when they meet on the same footing; and to repress haughty deportment or manifestations of superiority. The poor learn to avoid that crouching so common to the poor in most parts of Europe, while, at the same time, the asperities of their manners and tempers are cor

rected by the example of those who have been taught to conciliate by gentleness and courtesy.

The coaches I have said carry no outside passengers, the alleged reason for which is, that the roads are not smooth enough to render outside travelling safe. This is true of most of the roads but not of all. In the neighbourhood of Boston, in Long Island, and between Philadelphia and Trenton, are roads sufficiently compact and level. How it is, that the coach proprietors on these and other good roads do not start coaches on the English model I cannot explain. None of the stage-coaches have any approach to stylishness: many of them are little adapted to secure the passengers from the inclemencies of the weather, having only leather curtains to exclude the wind and rain. In the winter, the better sort are padded with woollen cushions. The coach-box being nearly on a level with the seats, the driver can hear what passes in conversation between the passengers, when these cushions are removed, and the leather curtains only are left. In the newly settled parts, and in the bye-roads of the older, the traveller must content himself as well as he can in a light, tilted waggon, in which, if the road be rough, he will experience a jolting painful to flesh and bones. Great command of

temper is necessary for one, who after being accustomed to smooth roads and easy carriages, is for the first time seated in one of these waggons when travelling on what is technically called a gridiron road, that is, a road formed as that between St. Petersburg and Moscow originally was, of trunks of trees, placed across from side to side, covered with a layer of soil. On such a road, I have found the jolting so great as to knock my head violently against the sides and top of the vehicle, besides its making my hip-bones quite sore. What was the torture of Sisyphus compared to this! The man who can endure it without peevishness is a practical philosopher worthy of being ranked with the Stoics. I cannot give a person who has travelled in France, a better idea of American conveyances, than by saying they are much on a par with the French. On the other hand, the New York hackney-coaches are as superior to those of Paris or London, as English stage-coaches are to French. Postchaises have not yet been introduced.

The inns, or taverns as in many districts they are called, are correspondent to the roads by which they stand. Where but few travellers pass, they are as destitute of comfort as can be

well supposed. Large rooms without carpets or