lvi 
LIFE OF 
it — whose ashes are now mingled with its soil— and of whom a 
mean, beggarly pillar of bricks is all the memento ” 
His next letter, to the same gentleman, is dated “ Windsor, 
Vermot, October 26.” He remained nearly a week at Boston, 
journeying through the streets with his book, and visiting all the 
literary characters he could meet with. He continues , — “ The 
streets of Boston are a perfect labyrinth. The markets are dirty : 
the fish-market is so filthy, that I will not disgust you by a descrip- 
tion of it. Wherever you walk, you hear the most hideous howling, 
as if some miserable wretch were expiring on the wheel at every 
corner ; this, however, is nothing but the draymen shouting to 
their horses. Their drays are twenty-eight feet long, drawn by 
two horses, and carry ten barrels of flour. From Boston I set out 
for Salem ; the country between, swampy, and, in some places, the 
most barren, rocky, and desolate in nature. Salem is a neat little 
town. The waters were crowded with vessels. One wharf here is 
twenty hundred and twenty- two feet long. I staid here two days, 
and again set off for Newbury Port, through a rocky, uncultivated, 
steril country. 
“ I travelled on through New Hampshire, stopping at every 
place where I was likely to do any business ; and went as far east 
as Portland, in Maine, where I staid three days ; and, the supreme 
court being then sitting, I had an opportunity of seeing and con- 
versing with people from the remotest boundaries of the United 
States in this quarter, and received much interesting information 
from them with regard to the birds that frequent these northern 
regions. From Portland, I directed my course across the country, 
among dreary, savage glens, and mountains covered with pines 
and hemlocks, amid whose black and half burnt trunks the ever- 
lasting rocks and stones, that cover this country, ‘ grinned 
horribly.’ One hundred and fifty-seven miles brought me to 
Dartmouth College, New Hampshire, on the Vermont line. Here 
I paid my addresses to the reverend fathers of literature, and met 
with a kind and obliging reception. Dr Wheelock, the President, 
made me eat at his table, and the professors vied with each other 
to oblige me. 
3 
