The morning was beautifully bright and clear. While dressing, heard the breakfast-bell, and received sundry intimations to descend and eat; however, I declined leaving my cabin until I had done dressing, which I achieved very comfortably at leisure, during which time the ship weathered Point Judith, where the Atlantic comes in to the shore between the termination of Long Island and the southern extremity of Rhode Island. The water is generally rough here, and I had been prophesied an agreeable little fit of sea-sickness; but no such matter,--we passed it very smoothly, and presently stopped at Newport, on Rhode Island, to leave and take up passengers. The wind was keen and bracing; the morning beautifully bright and sunny; the blue waters, all curled and crisped under the arrow-like wind, broke into a thousand sapphire ridges tipped with silver foam, that drove away in sparkling showers before the bitter breath of the north. We entered Providence river in a few moments, and steamed along between Rhode Island and the main land, until we reached Providence, a town on the shore of Rhode Island, where we were to leave the boat, and pursue our route by coach to Boston. I walked on deck with Captain ---- for an hour after breakfast, breasting the wind, which almost drove us back each time we turned up the deck towards the prow. After my walk, went in, righted my hair, which the wind had dressed _à la frantic_, and came and sat in the sun with Brewster's book,--which I like mainly,--till we reached Providence. The boat was so heavily laden that she drew an enormous quantity of water, and was fairly aground once, as we were nearing the pier. When the crowd of passengers had ebbed away, and we had seen them pack themselves into their stages and drive off, we adjourned to our exclusive extra, which, to our great sorrow, could not take all our luggage after all. The distance from Providence to Boston is forty miles; but we were six hours and a half doing it over an excellent road. The weather was beautiful, but the country still sad and wintry-looking. The spring is backwarder here than in New York by full three weeks: the trees were all bare and leafless, except the withered foliage of the black oaks; and the face of the country, with its monotonous rises, and brooks flowing through flat fields, reminded me of parts of Cumberland. Every now and then, however, we came to a little lakelet, or, as they call them here, pond, of the holiest deepest dark-blue water, sparkling like a magic sapphire, against smooth, bright, golden, sandy shores, and screened by vivid thickets of cedar bushes. They were like little bits of fairy-land, and relieved the wearisomeness of the road. As we approached Boston, the country assumed a more cultivated aspect,--the houses in the road-side villages were remarkably neat, and pretty, and cottage-like,--the land was well farmed; and the careful cultivation, and stone walls, which