"Approaching our journey's close, we were delighted with the magnificent elms of East Hartford. The soil, growing sandy, redoubled the toil of the horses, by sliding from beneath their hoofs. But it became gradually intermixed with strata of a chocolate color, and finally turned to thick clay, with plenty of adhesive mud. I was almost petrified with horror when we reached the ferry at the Connecticut River. Awful accidents had I heard of drowning and capsizing, and expected to see them repeated. But we quietly drove into a large flat-bottomed boat, with four oarsmen, and, to my astonishment, passed the mighty stream with ease and safety. Hartford made a fine appearance, with its large brick buildings, the masts of its numerous vessels, and its picturesque boats gliding hither and thither over the blue waters. We drove a short distance up the main street to the mansion of the late Colonel Jeremiah Wadsworth, the favorite nephew of my deceased benefactress. It is the residence of his widow, and two of his sisters, quite advanced in years; and, though I had seen them in Norwich, my heart beat with painful apprehension, like a stranger, at entering their house as a guest. But when I heard their kind voices, and remembered that her blood was in their veins, I felt easier, though tears kept gushing out so forcibly that I was ashamed to take my seat at the tea-table. After a very agreeable evening, being much fatigued, I begged leave to retire at an early hour.
