But here comes the captain muffled up.  He brings with him a poor sickly-looking woman, begs the ladies’ pardon, and bids her sit down by the stove and warm herself.  He then tells the passengers her painful story.  The night before, in New York, this woman came on board, from one of the Philadelphia boats, bringing with her a bed and a child.  On being spoken to by the captain, she informed him that she was on her way from St. Louis to her home in Massachusetts,—­that she had been fifteen days upon the journey, and had two children with her.  On being asked where the other was, she replied, “There it is,” pointing to the bed, where, clad in its usual dress, the little sufferer, released from the trials of life, lay extended in death.  It had caught cold, and died in her arms in New York.  She was friendless and penniless, and wanted a passage to New Haven.  The captain had obtained a coroner’s inquest over the body, purchased for it a little coffin, had it decently laid out, and gratified her maternal feelings by allowing her to bring it with her, that it might be buried in her village-home in Massachusetts.  All this he had done without money and without price, had also given her a free passage to New Haven, and was about to forward her home by railway at his own expense!  Captain Stone—­“what’s in a name?”—­at the close of this statement had to take out his pocket-handkerchief, and wipe away a few manly tears from his weather-beaten cheeks, as he added, “I have met in my life with many cases of distress, but with none that came so much to my heart as this.”  His object, in introducing the woman and her case, was to make an appeal to the passengers on her behalf.  He did so; and the result was a subscription amounting to about five pounds sterling, which was handed over to her.  Captain Stone’s was a deed worthy of a golden inscription!

It is half-past 11 A.M., and we are now at the landing-place in the harbour of New Haven, having accomplished the distance from New York, about 80 miles, in five hours!  We have a long wharf of 3,943 feet to travel; and then we set foot for the first time on the soil of New England.  We have been invited to make our abode here with the Rev. Leicester Sawyer, who makes his abode at Deacon Wilcoxon’s, corner of Sherman-avenue and Park-street.  Thither, therefore, let us go.  Mr. Sawyer, whom we had before met in New York, is the author of several books, comprising two on Mental and Moral Philosophy, and was also lately the President of the Central College of Ohio.  Deacon Wilcoxon and his wife are plain, homely, kind Christian people.  They make you feel at home as soon as you have crossed their threshold.