18th.—I passed king Joseph Bonaparte's palace on the banks of the Delaware on the Jersey side,[36] and many other delightful farms, houses, villas, and villages, with fruitful and extensive salt and fresh marshes, and meadows full of hay-stacks, just such as are seen in Lincolnshire and Norfolk, having the sea ready to burst in and over them, and inclosed by water ditches, as in the fens of England. At noon I landed for the first time at the beautiful and justly famed city of New York.
Elegant hackney coaches were in attendance on {156} the wharfs, and took us to the Washington Hall, the second best hotel in this city, where we dined at a long public table, groaning under the weight of luxuries. The company seemed of the first and best grade, principally boarders and visitors from the southern states. All seemed hungry and thirsty, and as if living only to eat and drink.
After dinner I took a hasty walk about the city, which seemed all bustle and confusion. It was like Michaelmas or Lady-day in England; at every door, in almost every street, carts and waggons were seen lading or laden, removing furniture, merchandize, and men from the city to the country. Stores and offices, and firms were closed, or only doing business as if by stealth. But why all this? The yellow fever was raging and turning citizens out of doors into the grave; and on discovering that one gentleman lay sick of it at our Hall, we determined on quitting the city and repairing to Philadelphia next morning.
I saw the once celebrated Aaron Burr, a little lean, pale, withered, shabby looking, decayed, grey-headed old gentleman, whose name is too well known in transatlantic history to need my notice. I saw also in court, but very
