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When we arrived at the inn, we found two of our companions had set out for Sandwich soon after dinner. It was near sun-set when we followed them. The evening was calm and beautiful; the country through which we passed was a forest, still and solitary, and the moon, whose unclouded beams darted, at momentary intervals, through the pines, bordering our road, prolonged the serene solemnity awakened in our minds during the afternoon, and formed a happy conclusion of the affecting scenes which I have described. After a delightful ride of twelve miles, we arrived at Mr. B.'s, and were received with every proof of politeness and affection.

On the afternoon of the succeeding day, Friday, October 2d, we left this hospitable family, and, accompanied by Mr. D., rode to Plymouth; eighteen miles. At the house of Mr. H.

In a letter of September 2, 1802, he says:—

"I have rather declined since I had the honour and satisfaction to see you at my house, in October 1800, a few days before my late James' death. I am yet upon duty-may I be faithful unto the death—the time is short; and the time of my departure is at hand. My coevals are dead.

"For a man of seventy-five I have very few complaints. In the early part of life my labours and sufferings were many and hard, and I did but just survive my services (among the Indians and in the army) in the year 1756. I came down to this place in 1757, expecting soon to end my days; but was so far recovered as to be on my western mission in 1761—and as far as Chenango.

"I have lately written to your kinsman, the only surviving son of your late uncle, the president of Union college, deceased, concerning his father in his puerile years, when with me in the Indian country, and how we came off in the dead of winter. I was six days in passing from Onecho Yunghe to Cherry Valley with my two boys; and the four last days with only ourselves, my Indians (not through disaffection, but fatigue) having given out by the way. An Indian will hardly endure three days fatigue in succession." This eminent and faithful servant of the Lord died on the 3d of October, 1807, in the eighty-first year of his age, and fifty-sixth of his missionary labours." On his death bed he appeared perfectly rational and tranquil. Speaking of his approaching dissolution and his prospects of futurity, he observed, 'I have hope of acceptance, but it is founded wholly on free and sovereign grace, and not at all on my own works. It is true my labours have been many, but they have been so very imperfect, attended with so great a want of charity, humility, &c., that I have no hope in them as the ground of my acceptance."-Pub.

* See Panoplist, 1807.

the same polite and friendly reception, which we had experienced at Sandwich, was repeated.

As I have now bidden adieu to the peninsula of Cape Cod, I will close my account of it with a few general observations.

This singular piece of land extends from the isthmus, which connects it with the Main, to Race Point, as measured on the road, sixty-eight miles. About half this distance it runs eastward, and the remaining half principally north-westward. At Sandwich, where it is widest, it is about seventeen miles in breadth, or, if measured to the south-western extremity of Falmouth, about twenty. At Harwich it is about eleven, or, if measured to the southern point of Cape Malabar, about nineteen. The basis of this peninsula, constituting almost the whole mass, is a body of fine yellow sand. Above this is a thin layer of coarser white sand, and above this another layer of soil, gradually declining from Barnstable to Truro, where it vanishes. A considerable part of the peninsula is still forested. Many of the inhabitants, within the Elbow, are seamen ; beyond it almost all. They are generally, perhaps as generally as in any other part of the United States, in comfortable, and even in thrifty circumstances. Few decayed, or unrepaired houses were visible to us, and no peculiar marks of poverty. The inhabitants are industrious and orderly. The vice principally complained of to us was intemperance, and this chiefly in the western division. Every town has at least one church, and, so far as I was able to learn, divine service is, with few exceptions, generally and respectfully attended. Their intercourse with each other by land is confined. There are no more enterprising, active, skilful seamen, perhaps, in the world. Upon the whole, this unpromising tract sustains more inhabitants, and furnishes them with more comfortable means of subsistence, than a stranger would be easily induced to imagine. In 1790, the county of Barnstable contained 17,354 people; in 1800, 19,293; and, in 1810, 22,211; a great part of whom are like beavers, gaining their subsistence from the water, and making use of the land chiefly as a residence. Those who live beyond the Elbow have been heretofore accused of plundering the vessels wrecked on their coast, and treating the seamen who escaped with inhumanity. Instances of this nature may have happened. I am well assured, that

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the contrary character is to be attributed to them generally, and that they have often exhibited the most humane, as well as undaunted spirit, in relieving their suffering countrymen, and in aiding them to preserve the remains of their shipwrecked property.

The country from Sandwich to Plymouth is a continued forest, with a few solitary settlements in its bosom. The surface is, principally, a plain; but at times swelling into hills. Wherever the road lies on the shore the prospects are romantic, but wild and solitary. The forest is, generally, composed of yellow pines; the soil is barren, and the road almost universally sandy; but less deep than that, which has been heretofore described.

We passed several places, which in this region have been kept in particular remembrance from an early period. Among them is a rock, called Sacrifice Rock, and a piece of water, named Clam-pudding Pond. On the former of these the Indians were accustomed to gather sticks, some of which we saw lying upon it, as a religious service, now inexplicable*. On the shore of the latter the early colonists of Plymouth held an annual festival, and made this food a part of their entertainment. A great part of the tract is in the township of Plymouth.

I am, Sir, &c.

This seems to have been customary among the aborigines of NewEngland.

LETTER XII.

Plymouth; the first Town settled in New-England. Rock on which the Colonists first landed. Their Cemetery. Reflections on the care of Divine Providence over them. Fisheries and Commerce of Plymouth.

DEAR SIR;

PLYMOUTH, the cradle of New-England, is situated at the bottom of a harbour, on the south-western part of Massachusetts'-Bay, forty-two miles south-east of Boston, and thirty north-east from Barnstable. It is built on the shore, upon an easy declivity, beneath the brow of an extensive pine plain. The declivity is about a fourth of a mile in breadth, and from a mile and a half to two miles in length. Its surface is generally handsome, and its soil excellent. The soil of the plain is of little value. Main Street runs irregularly on the rear of the declivity, parallel with the shore. Several others have the same direction, and these are irregularly crossed by others nearly at right-angles. The houses are in many instances ordinary, in many decent, and a considerable number are of a still better appearance. The town is compactly built, and has an air of respectability; but cannot be called handsome. I found it improved in its appearance; and still more so when I visited it in 1807. The public buildings are two churches, a court house, and a gaol; neither of them distinguished for beauty.

Plymouth was the first town built in New-England by civilized men, and those, by whom it was built, were inferior in worth to no body of men, whose names are recorded in history during the last seventeen hundred years. A kind of venerableness, arising from these facts, attaches to this town, which may be termed a prejudice. Still it has its foundation in the nature

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of man, and will never be eradicated either by philosophy or ridicule. No New-Englander, who is willing to indulge his native feelings, can stand upon the rock, where our ancestors set the first foot after their arrival on the American shore, without experiencing emotions, entirely different from those, which are excited by any common object of the same nature. No New-Englander could be willing to have that rock buried and forgotten. Let him reason as much, as coldly, and as ingeniously, as he pleases, he will still regard this spot with emotions, wholly different from those, which are excited by other places of equal, or even superior importance.

For myself, I cannot wish this trait in the human character obliterated. In a higher state of being, where truth is universally as well as cordially embraced, and virtue controls without a rival, this prejudice, if it must be called by that name, will probably become useless, and may, therefore, be safely discarded. But in our present condition every attachment, which is innocent, has its use, and contributes both to fix and to soften man. The fierce, and the roving spirit of our race, are alike dangerous; and where a ruling principle of a higher nature cannot be certainly established, nor its efficacy safely relied on, a wise man will press into the public service every harmless emotion, every useful tendency of the human heart, and secure to himself, and to the world, the benefits, which, experience assures him, will be derived from its influence. Nor will he foolishly lessen the attachment to country, nor discourage its desirable exertions, by coldly scrutinizing its metaphysical nature, doubting its propriety, or stigmatizing it with the names of prejudice and weakness.

An admiral would be ill employed, on the eve of a naval engagement, in teaching his sailors, that the enthusiasm, with which they felt the honour of their country, was contrary to good sense, and founded only in the foolish prejudices of a narrow education. A parent would be miserably occupied in persuading his child, if he could persuade him, that the house, in which he was born, had nothing which recommended it to his attachment, beyond any other house in the neighbour hood, except the feelings, which were produced, as well as cherished, by weakness and error. Probably there is not a