“Why, that I cannot exactly tell. I lately went with this little girl of mine to Concord, to see my friends; and I am ashamed to tell you, in returning lost the way, and have been travelling ever since. No one would direct me right. It is cruel to mislead a traveller. My horse, Lightfoot, has boxed the compass; and it seems to me he has boxed it back again. But, sir, you perceive my horse is uneasy; Lightfoot, as yet, has only given a hint and a nod. I cannot be answerable for his heels.” At these words Lightfoot reared his long tail, and snapped it as you would a whiplash. The Hudson reverberated with the sound. Instantly the six horses began to move the boat. The Hudson was a sea of glass, smooth as oil, not a ripple. The horses, from a smart trot, soon pressed into a gallop; water now ran over the gunwale; the ferry-boat was soon buried in an ocean of foam, and the noise of the spray was like the roaring of many waters. When we arrived at New York, you might see the beautiful white wake of the ferry-boat across the Hudson. Though Rugg refused to pay toll at turnpikes, when Mr. Hardy reached his hand for the ferriage, Rugg readily put his hand into one of his many pockets, took out a piece of silver, and handed it to Hardy. “What is this?” said Mr. Hardy. “It is thirty shillings,” said Rugg. “It might once have been thirty shillings, old tenor,” said Mr. Hardy, “but it is not at present.” “The money is good English coin,” said Rugg; “my grandfather brought a bag of them from England, and had them hot from the mint.” Hearing this, I approached near to Rugg, and asked permission to see the coin. It was a half-crown, coined by the English Parliament, dated in the year 1649. On one side, “The Commonwealth of England,” and St. George’s cross encircled with a wreath of laurel. On the other, “God with us,” and a harp and St. George’s cross united. I winked at Mr. Hardy, and pronounced it good current money; and said loudly, “I will not permit the gentleman to be imposed on, for I will exchange the money myself.” On this, Rugg spoke,--“Please to give me your name, sir.” “My name is Dunwell, sir,” I replied. “Mr. Dunwell,” said Rugg, “you are the only honest man I have seen since I left Boston. As you are a stranger here, my house is your home; Dame Rugg will be happy to see her husband’s friend. Step into my chair, sir, there is room enough; move a little, Jenny, for the gentleman, and we will be in Middle Street in a minute.” Accordingly I took a seat by Peter Rugg. “Were you never in Boston before?” said Rugg. “No,” said I. “Well, you will now see the queen of New England, a town second only to Philadelphia, in all North America.” “You forget New York,” said I. “Poh, New York is nothing; though I never was there. I am told you might put all New York in our mill-pond. No, sir, New York, I assure you, is but a sorry affair; no more to be compared with Boston than a wigwam with a palace.”