LIFE OF WILSON. 
Ixxxvii 
able number of stuffed birds, some of which he gave me, besides 
letters to several gentlemen of influence in Boston. I endeavoured 
to recompense him in the best manner I could, and again pursued 
my route to the north-east. The country between this and Hart- 
ford is extremely beautiful, much resembling that between Phila- 
delphia and Frankford. The road is a hard sandy soil; and in 
one place I had an immense prospect of the surrounding country, 
nearly equal to that which we saw returning from Easton, but less 
covered with woods. On reaching Hartford, I waited on Mr. G., 
a member of congress, who recommended me to several others, 
particularly a Mr. W., a gentleman of taste and fortune, who was 
extremely obliging. The publisher of a newspaper here expressed 
the highest admiration of the work, and has since paid many hand- 
some compliments to it in his publication, as three other editors 
did in Newyork. This is a species of currency that will neither 
purchase plates, nor pay the printer ; but, nevertheless, it is gratify- 
ing to the vanity of an author — when nothing better can be got. My 
journey from Hartford to Boston, through Springfield, Worcester, 
&c. one hundred and twenty-eight miles, it is impossible for me to 
detail at this time. From the time I entered Massachusetts, until 
within ten miles of Boston, which distance is nearly two thirds the 
length of the whole state, I took notice that the principal features 
of the country were stony mountains, rocky pasture fields, and hills 
and swamps adorned with pines. The fences, in every direction, 
are composed of strong stones ; and, unless a few straggling, self- 
planted, stunted apple trees, overgrown with moss, deserve the 
name, there is hardly an orchard to be seen in ten miles. Every 
six or eight miles you come to a meeting-house, painted white, with 
a spire. I could perceive little difference in the form or elevation 
of their steeples. 
“ The people here make no distinction between torvn and town- 
ship ; and travellers frequently asked the driver of the stagecoach, 
“ What town are we now in when perhaps we were upon the 
