Sept. 19th.—­I intended proceeding to Boston, by the way of Rhode Island, as I was informed the passage through Hell Gates[Footnote:  A dangerous strait, between stupendous rocks.] and the Sound is very pleasant at this season; but the fear of being obliged to perform a quarantine at my arrival prevented me.  I set off this morning, in the stage.  Our course lay the whole length of the island, which is barren and rocky; affording some romantic situations, in several of which I observed (to use a cockney phrase) snug little boxes; these, I was informed, belonged to the wealthy citizens; they commanded a view of the city, the North River, the Sound, and adjacent islands.

At noon we entered Connecticut, the most southerly of the New England states.  Slept at Fairfield.

On the night of the 20th we reached Hertford, the capital of the state.—­ About five miles from it, a house was pointed out to me, where a very shocking circumstance took place a few years ago.—­A merchant, not being able to bear a change in his circumstances from affluence to extreme poverty, coolly and deliberately shot his wife and five children, and afterward himself.  He tried every means, for several days, to send his wife away; but she preferred dying with him and the children.  He left a paper on the table, informing his friends, that his only motive for committing this rash action was to rescue his family from a situation, which he himself found insupportable.

Sept. 21st.—­We this afternoon entered the state of Massachusetts.  I found New England very different from any part of America I had before seen; the soil but very indifferent, rocky, and mountainous, interspersed with some rich tracts of land in the valleys; the up lands are divided by means of stone walls, as in Derbyshire, and some other parts of Great Britain.

They have few negroes, or european emigrants; so far from wanting the latter, as in the South, they send great numbers every year to the new settlements in the South-west.

When we made any stay at a tavern on the road, I observed one of my fellow travellers (who was very eloquent upon this subject) take every opportunity of singing forth the praises of New Virginia[Footnote:  A rich tract of country, west of the Allegany Mountains.].—­The north-west wind continuing, the morning of the 22d was very cold; and we breakfasted with a number of strangers.  Our orator did not lose this opportunity of holding forth on his favourite topic.  I recollect the latter part of his harangue was to the following effect:—­"There," says he, (while the New Englanders were staring with their mouths open,) “when I clear a fresh lot of land on any of my plantations, I am obliged to plant it six or seven years with hemp, or tobacco, before it is sufficiently poor to bear wheat!  My indian corn grows twelve or thirteen feet high; I’ll dig four feet deep on my best land, and it shall then