LETTER XV.

THE TOWN OF BOSTON.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

You asked me to give you a description of Boston and of its inhabitants; a place which you have never yet visited, though it is but little more than eight hundred miles from your own residence, and people of both sexes, and of all ages, come a much greater distance every summer, to leave their cards. A few hundred miles, which would carry a traveller out of the limits of some empires, can hardly be remarked on the extensive map of our country; which, if colossal size were the only measure of greatness, would find few competitors to look it in the face, even by standing tiptoe, but as it is, we too often find it productive of inconvenience, and when it separates friends so far, we wish its limits were more restricted;-however, as it is daily enlarging, not, I trust, "like the circle in the water," we may as well cease our regrets on this point. Perhaps my description may induce you to come, though I might be led into great exaggerations, if I thought so; but as I fear you will never gratify the friends who would give you such a cordial wel

come, I shall try to make out a plain matter of fact account. I am willing, however, to caution you against my partiality, and that this sketch should be received, as coming from a native Cockney.

Boston is situated at the bottom of Massachusetts bay, on a capacious and excellent harbour, distant from the sea about ten miles, from whose waves it is sheltered by a groupe of islands, of various sizes and appearance. Three small rivers, the Charles, Mystic, and Neponset, navigable for only five or six miles, empty into these waters, and the first washes the towns on the north and west. The town itself, and two of its suburbs, Charlestown and South Boston, stand on three peninsulas, which form the western, northern, and southern sides of the inner harbour. The neck of each of these peninsulas is low and narrow, over which the tide formerly flowed. Each of these districts, which collectively contain less than three thousand acres, is variegated in its surface with gentle slopes and hills of moderate height. The surrounding country exhibits a variegated appearance; smooth meadows, gently swelling hills, and small valleys, presenting undulating lines of the most pleasing variety, covered with villages, country seats, farmhouses, orchards, groves, and a cultivation, that gives a smiling aspect to the whole landscape.

There are no sublime features in this scenery, except the view of the ocean, which is obtained from almost every rising ground; but all the traits of beauty are profusely scattered. There are no

up

majestic mountains, no fearful precipices; the highest land, called the Blue Hills, about eight miles south from the town, rises between seven and eight hundred feet. A striking circumstance in the topography of this district, is the endless number and variety of pleasing views it offers. The tide flows around these islands, peninsulas, and points of land, forming so many little straits and coves, and running these small rivers and creeks, in such a serpentine course, that the land and water are every where blended together: in addition, there are several fine brooks, and many beautiful ponds of fresh water, which makes it almost impossible to find a view, that is not embellished by some sheet of water. The town itself, which is visible from the neighbouring eminences for many miles in every direction, comes in to give richness to the scene. The surface on which it is built is so irregular; there are so many steeples and turrets; the varied colour of its dwellings reflected and contrasted by the smooth surface of the water, that almost encircles it; the sort of coquettish negligence with which it seems flung over its hills for display; all combine to make its exterior more imposing and picturesque than any other city in the Union, though it is but the fourth in magnitude. To point out all the beautiful views would be in vain; where every little eminence you ascend, and almost every turn you take, offers a new picture.

Several country seats are so placed, as to command delightful prospects. It would form a long

list to enumerate them all; but I will answer for it, that any of your friends who will bring letters from you, will find a ready access to them. I will only mention three views which are on the highway, and are very different, and all possessing, in a very high degree, grandeur, and beauty. The first is on a hill, about six miles from town, over which the Concord turnpike passes; the next is on Milton-hill, about the same distance; and the third is on a hill in Malden, over which the Newbury turnpike passes, about a mile from the bridge. A great deal of the effect in landscape, as well as in paintings, depends on the manner in which the light is thrown; in these three that I have mentioned, the most favourable moments for seeing them are an hour or two before sunset. You may conclude, that these environs must possess remarkable beauty, when it has been observed, by more than one intelligent foreigner, whose opinions must be free from local partiality, that, Naples excepted, there is no spot in Europe can equal it.

Nor does this scenery depend on its natural beauties alone, to give pleasure. There are many delightful places in our country, that have no other charm but their own loveliness to attract the spectator; and being wholly unconnected with any historical events, créate no associations that occupy the mind. But it is far otherwise here. Independently of many events in early history, the American Revolution has immortalized the spot. Here first began, in words and writing, resistance to oppression, and here that resistance was

first sealed in blood. Every hill, every point of land around the town, is still crowned with the first breast-works of the Revolution. Lexington and Bunker-hill are parts of the landscape. It is the classic ground of American patriotism and valour, and the interest it excites, must increase with all succeeding ages.

On entering the town, the traveller does not find its interior equal to the expectations he will have entertained from its appearance at a distance. It is very irregular, many of the streets are narrow and winding. It has more the aspect of an European town, than any other city in America. The buildings are, many of them, of wood, but some of these are neat and even elegant, from being neatly painted, and from their style of architecture. Buildings of this material, more than ten feet high, have been prohibited by law for some years; of course their number is decreasing by fires and decay. This salutary law was not passed, till the town had suffered repeatedly from extensive conflagrations. The greatest number of buildings are now of brick. Of late years it has become the practice to build with stone, and there are several public and private edifices of this material. The stone employed is a fine light-coloured granite, which is found at Chelmsford, on the Middlesex canal, about twenty miles distant. Many of the houses have gardens attached to them, and a small piece of grass in front, with an open railing. This relieves the narrowness of the streets; and the number of trees