it at once. Their progress had been rapid,
for they entered Boston Bay in thirty-six hours from Halifax, a distance
of 390 miles. Boston is more English looking than New York. The gently
undulating shores of the bay, highly cultivated, bring to memory the
green hills of England, and within the town the buildings and the
inhabitants have a peculiarly English air.

As speed was an object, the party immediately left the town by the
railway, passing through Lowell and reaching Nashua. This is one of the
rapid growths of America. In 1819 this place was a village of but
nineteen houses. It now contains 19,000 inhabitants, with churches,
hotels, prisons, and banks. Here the party went off in two detachments,
one in a sleigh with six horses, and the other rattled along in a
coach-and-four. At the next stage the author exchanged the coach for a
sleigh, a matter of no great importance to the world, but which may be
mentioned as a caution against rash changes. For the first few miles the
new conveyance went on merrily, and the passengers congratulated
themselves on their wisdom. We must now let him speak for himself.

"The sun, as the day advanced, kept thawing the snow, till at last, on
coming to a deep drift, we were repeatedly obliged to get out, sometimes
walking up to the knees, and sometimes helping to lift the vehicle out
of the snow. However, at length we fairly stuck fast, in spite of all
our hauling and pushing. The horses struggled and plunged to no purpose,
excepting that the leaders, after breaking part of their tackle,
galloped off over the hills and far away, leaving us to kick our heels
in the slush, till they were brought back after a chase of several
miles."

The road now passed through Vermont, the state of green mountains. The
country appeared striking; and Montpelier, where they breakfasted, seems
to be a very pretty place, looking more the residence of hereditary ease
and luxury, than the capital of a republic of thrifty graziers. It is,
in fact, an assemblage of villas; the wide streets run between rows of
trees, and the houses, each in its own little garden, are shaded by
verandas.

In that very pleasant little book, the "Miseries of Human Life," one of
those small calamities is, the being called at the wrong hour to go off
in the wrong coach from a Yorkshire inn. Time and the railroad have
changed all this in England, but in America we have the primitive misery
well described.

The author, after for