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. 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 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 Plymonth 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, yours, &c.

*This seems to have been customary among the Aborigines of New-England.

LETTER XII.

Flymouth; 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. Mainstreet 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 inferiour 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 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 superiour 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 neighbourhood, except the feelings, which were produced, as well as cherished, by weakness and errour. Probably there is not a Christian in the world, however ardent, refined, or sublime, may be his emotions, to whom heaven is not additionally endeared, whenever he thinks of it in the character, or gives it the appellation, of his final home. Such prejudices are more

honourable to the heart, and more useful to the interests of man, than all the frosty feelings, and all the wire-drawn disquisitions, with which a false Philosophy has benumbed, and perplexed, the world.

On Saturday morning, accompanied by I. L. Esq. and Mr. H. we visited the consecrated Rock, on which the first Fathers of New-England landed. Hence we proceeded to the original burying ground, where several of the first Colonists, whose names are now unknown, were interred. Two of the cannon, originally brought hither, lie on this ground. From this place we proceeded to the spot, where the first English dwelling-house was erected: and saw the first well, which was dug in New-England.

We next proceeded to the common cemetery and examined the names on a great number of the monuments; many of which had already been rendered familiar to us by history.

Had the persons, anciently buried here, been distinguished for nothing but being the first planters of New-England, they would, according to the dictates of my own mind, have been entitled to a consideration, in some respects peculiar; and could not have been blended by memory with the herd of those, who are gone. But when I call to mind the history of their sufferings on both sides of the Atlantic; when I remember their pre-eminent patience, their unspotted piety, their immoveable fortitude, their undaunted resolution, their love to each other, their justice and humanity to the savages, and their freedom from all those stains, which elsewhere spotted the character even of their companions in affliction; I cannot but view them as a singular band of illustrious brothers, claiming the veneration and applause of all their posterity. By me the names of Carver, Bradford, Cushman, and Standish, will never be forgotten, until I lose the power of recollection.

On this ground stood the first fort, ever erected in this country. The figure of the work is still distinctly visible. It was a round, irregular structure, conformed to the shape of the ground. No other place could have been so well chosen, either for discovering the approach of savages, or for defending the town against their incursions.