By far the shortest route to Washington, both as to distance and time, is by land; but I much wished to see the celebrated Chesapeak bay, and it was therefore decided that we should take our passage in the steam-boat. It is indeed a beautiful little voyage, and well worth the time it costs; but as to the beauty of the bay, it must, I think, be felt only by sailors. It is, I doubt not, a fine shelter for ships, from the storms of the Atlantic, but its very vastness prevents its striking the eye as beautiful: it is, in fact, only a fine sea view. But the entrance from it into the Potomac river is very noble, and is one of the points at which one feels conscious of the gigantic proportions of the country, without having recourse to a graduated pencil-case.

The passage up this river to Washington is interesting, from many objects that it passes, but beyond all else, by the view it affords of Mount Vernon, the seat of General Washington. It is there that this truly great man passed the last years of his virtuous life, and it is there that he lies buried: it was easy to distinguish, as we passed, the cypress that wraves over his grave.

On the 4th of November, 1827, I sailed from London, accompanied by my son and two daughters; and after a favourable, though somewhat tedious voyage, arrived on Christmas-day at the mouth of the Mississippi.

The first indication of our approach to land was the appearance of this mighty river pouring forth its muddy mass of waters, and mingling with the deep blue of the Mexican Gulf. The shores of this river are so utterly flat, that no object upon them is perceptible at sea, and we gazed with pleasure on the muddy ocean that met us, for it told us we were arrived, and seven weeks of sailing had wearied us; yet it was not without a feeling like regret that we passed from the bright blue waves, whose varying aspect had so long furnished our chief amusement, into the murky stream which now received us.

Large flights of pelicans were seen standing upon the long masses of mud which rose above the surface of the waters, and a pilot came to guide us over the bar, long before any other indication of land was visible.

I never beheld a scene so utterly desolate as this entrance of the Mississippi. Had Dante seen it, he might have drawn images of another Bolgia from its horrors. One only object rears itself above the eddying waters; this is the mast of a vessel long since wrecked in attempting to cross the bar, and it still stands, a dismal witness of the destruction that has been, and a boding prophet of that which is to come.

In offering to the public these volumes on America, their author would rather be considered as endeavouring to excite fresh attention on a very important subject, than as pretending to furnish complete information upon it.

Although much has already been written on the great experiment, as it has been called, now making in government, on the other side of the Atlantic, there appears to be still room for many interesting details on the influence which the political system of the country has produced on the principles, tastes, and manners, of its domestic life.

The author of the following pages has endeavoured, in some degree, to supply this deficiency, by carefully recording the observations she had an opportunity of making during a residence of three years and six months in different parts of the United States.

She leaves to abler pens the more ambitious task of commenting on the democratic form of the American government; while, by describing, faithfully, the daily aspect of ordinary life, she has endeavoured to shew how greatly the advantage is on the side of those who are governed by the few, instead of the many. The chief object she has had in view is to encourage her countrymen to hold fast by a constitution that ensures all the blessings which flow from established habits and solid principles.

The first voyage of Cook had completed the general survey of the Australian continent, and fixed a limit to its extension towards the east; but still its coasts remained to be accurately examined, and many parts were still wholly unknown. It was traditionally recollected that the Spanish navigator, Torres, had sailed to the south of New Guinea; but his voyage met with little attention or credit till 1762, when, on the taking of Manilla, a manuscript journal of his voyage was discovered, which gave authenticity to the almost forgotten rumours of his discoveries. Still Cook seems to have doubted the existence of a strait between New Guinea and Terra Australis; and when he sailed between them in 1770, his achievement had the brilliancy of a new discovery.

The Dutch navigators had coasted the northern shores at a very early period, and Tasman is supposed to have completed the survey of that part of the continent; but as the jealous policy of the Dutch government suppressed the publication of these voyages, other nations remained incredulous as to the reality of discoveries which were in some measure concealed from them. The Dutch themselves, it appears, had never solved to their own satisfaction the most important questions respecting the great Australian land, as they still remained ignorant of a great portion of the eastern and western eoasts. They thought it probable that the lands discovered on the north and on the south were separated from each other by a great strait running from east to west. The first voyage of Cook, by establishing the continuity of the eastern coast, overturned this hypothesis.